


Once in a Generation

by SunflowerSupreme



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Background torture, Drug Use, Flashbacks, Gen, Mistaken Identity, Read at Own Risk, Self-Harm, Slavery, background rape, non consensual drug use, pre guardians movie, w.i.p.
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-29
Updated: 2018-06-22
Packaged: 2019-05-15 06:49:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 16
Words: 22,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14785542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunflowerSupreme/pseuds/SunflowerSupreme
Summary: Peter Quill is Dead.Yondu saw him die. He mourned him.So why in the hell did a Terran show up at a slave market? It better not be his Terran, because if it is, there’s going to be hell to pay.





	1. Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is not a happy story. This story deals with a lot of shit. If you want a happy story where the only shit you have to worry about is literal cow shit check out [Clint's Home for Vacationing and Retired Super Heroes](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1031333).
> 
> Initially, I wanted to write "Peter gets lost in a slave market and almost sold" but that's been done to death so I thought I'd take it a step farther and have him actually enslaved for a while. So this plot bunny was born. It hurt me and now you have to join in the pain with me.

No one was coming for him.

He’d given up on that months ago. Yondu had always said that stragglers got left behind, and even if he had never applied that rule to Peter before, it seemed he finally had decided the Terran was too much trouble. Too bad he hadn’t left him any of the other dozen times he’d needed rescuing. No, Yondu was a Grade-A asshole, 100 percent a dick, and he had left Peter in the worst possible situation.

Slavery.

And it wasn’t like Earth slavery, at least not the kind he had heard about in school (of course, they probably didn’t tell you about the really bad shit when you were eight). He wasn’t picking cotton or cleaning or cooking. Rare species like Terrans weren’t valued for things like that. No, his last owner had wanted to examine his new oddity, which had involved nudity and pain and things going places they shouldn’t. If Peter was lucky, they were just poking him with scientific instruments. If he was less lucky - well, he didn’t like to think about that.

Finally, he had lost it, and smarted back one too many times - “If I’m so valuable, why do you keep breaking me?” - and the man had snapped a tight collar around his neck. Something had plunged into his skin and frozen his vocal chords. He hadn’t managed so much as a whimper since. But that master was dead - Peter couldn’t bring himself to care why exactly - and in the liquidation of his estate many of his specimens were being sold off. It made sense, most people, even scum, didn’t want to fuck the same person as their relatives.

He leaned back, resting his head on the cool metal bars of his cage and letting out a soft sigh. The lyrics to _Moonage Daydream_ cycled through his head and he drummed his fingers to the silent beat. Humming was yet another thing he had once taken for granted which had been taken away the moment the collar had snapped around his neck. His Walkman, too, was long gone. He’d left it on the _Elector_ and there was no way Yondu hadn’t sold it. If Terrans were as valuable as everyone acted as though they were, he could imagine their tech was as well. _Jackass_.

Fortunately (or not) he didn’t have much longer to wait in the holding cell, and someone approached. He’d figured out the routine by then and held out his arm as they approached, waiting for an injection of either sedatives or nutrient supplements. The guard jabbed his arm and he barely had time to process that the lock on his cell was being opened before the drugs set in. 

* * *

Three hundred and ninety-four days. Terran days. It only seemed right to keep track of them how Peter would have.

_Guess I should’ve just delivered ‘im to Ego, if ‘e was meant to die anyway._

Yondu swallowed the hurtful words - which he had already expressed numerous times to Kraglin who had the good sense to not say anything - and leaned his head back against the wall of his cabin. He was meant to be searching the job boards for something for the crew (pretending everything was normal, it was a good thing he was so adept at hiding his feelings) but his mind kept slipping into the darkness.

Sleep didn’t help. Everytime he closed his eyes he saw the shot ring out and stab straight into Peter’s chest. He saw himself rushing to Peter’s side and feeling for a pulse. Heard Doc’s voice, “his heart’s gone boss. It done blown up.” He hadn’t even had time to grab his body before the next wave of attackers was gone, but Peter had gotten a funeral worthy of a Ravager anyway, as soon as Yondu was sure his men were off the ship he’d ordered it blown to smitherens.

He rolled his shoulders and tried his best to focus on the job board, but as he read the lists of clients, payments, and requests he felt his eyes glaze over. It was all the same, all meaningless. Yondu had had one purpose after Stakar had cut ties with him, and that was to keep Peter alive and out of Ego’s grasp. If he didn’t have Peter or Stakar anymore, then who did he have?

Nobody. Just himself and a cruel galaxy.

The walkman clicked. He tossed the pad to the side, letting it slide off his bed and thump to the floor. With careful fingers he rewound the tape just as Peter had taught him, starting it again. Of course, he was aware of the cruel irony, he’d always mocked Peter for listening to the songs on repeat and here he was, doing the exact same thing. Somedays it was the only thing that kept him sane.

He had to keep moving, he reminded himself. He had to prove to the galaxy that it hadn’t won. With a grunt Yondu rolled to the side, snatching up the data pad to resume his bored scrolling. In the fall the pad had changed pages, instead of bringing up the list of jobs it brought up a list of slave auctions (of course the forums were close together, the same scum that took smuggling jobs often dealt in sentient beings, the Ravagers being the rare exception). Yondu scowled and made to close out the page when something caught his eye: a listing advertising a rare and exotic breed.

Once Yondu had been advertised in a similar manner, but this one wasn’t for a Centauran (he wouldn’t have given a damn if it was). This was a listing for a juvenile Terran male. His gut twisted. There couldn’t be that many juvenile Terrans in the Universe. With a growing sense of dread (and oddly enough, hope) he clicked the listing and brought up the picture.

“Fuck.”

Even though the subject of the photo was clearly out of his mind on drugs, head lolling to the side to reveal a collar, there was no mistaking the hair or eyes (or the teeth, which had sunk into Yondu’s arm on more than one occasion).

“Pete.”

His mind wasn’t functioning anymore. With shaking fingers Yondu reached for his comm. “Kraglin,” he said into the speaker, not even waiting to see if the other picked up. “Git yer ass down ‘ere and set course for Femizonia.” 

* * *

Everything was beautiful.

Peter’s head lolled back and he stared up at the ceiling. How had he never noticed how many colors there were? _Hey mom_ , he thought, watching as Meredith drifted above him, dancing arm in arm with his grandfather (who was wearing an eyepatch and a tophat). He grinned.

Doors opened and he waltzed forward, the guard barely needing to yank his chain. In his own mind, the man was a puppeteer and he was the puppet, and together they were performing a Swan Lake esque dance to the tune of _Hooked on a Feeling_.

Other dancers joined them, just as they were passing a large puddle that he imagioned to be the fountain. A bolt of red magic looped above Peter, swirling through the dancers in the sky. Across the lake, the auctioneer, dancing the part of Von Rothbart waited to cut off Peter’s wings. He was the next to turn into a swan.

All around them, the red magic was turning other men into swans as well, as the new dancer, this one dressed in blue (was it the Sugar Plum Fairy? He was fairly certain that she was in _Swan Lake_ , and it made sense because once he thought about it his guard had been the Rat King, he had been taking Peter to Von Rothbart after all). Peter flailed his arms helplessly, unable to remember if he was meant to be dancing the part of Clarie or Odette. When he didn’t lift off into flight or sprout swan’s wings he assumed he must be Claire, so he sat down on the ground and started trying to pull off his shoe.

The Nutcracker raced past him. He didn’t remember him having a scruffy mohawk, but he was so tall he couldn’t imagine who else he could be. Finally, he was able to remove his shoe, and threw it halfheartedly at the stocky Odile who stood beside Sugar Plum. _It isn’t me_ , he wanted to shout, but his stregnth was fading. Thankfully the crescendo of his imagioned music cued him into the ending of the play and Sugar Plum turned his attention to Peter.

Peter couldn’t remember who Claire/Odette was supposed to kiss - Sugar Plum or Nutcracker - but he was saved from having to figure that out by falling to the ground in a heap. The last thing he saw was his Grandfather looming over him, his good eye sharp although his tophat was slightly askew.

“It was all a dream, my love. Wake up, it’s Christmas!” his mother urged. He wanted to, but the world turned black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing Peter on drugs was just my excuse to write him hallucinating some sort of weird Swan Lake / Nutcracker Crossover.
> 
> I really put too much effort into making Peter’s hallucination fit the stories. Below, if you’re interested, is a list of who is represented by who and why.
> 
> Yondu = Sugar Plum Fairy (because he’s blue and also “magic”)  
> Kraglin = Nutcracker (because he’s tall)  
> Peter = Claire / Odette  
> Grandfather = Godfather Drosselmeyer  
> Meredeth = Claire’s Mother  
> Guard = Rat King (Villain of The Nutcracker)  
> Auctioneer = Von Rothbart (Villain of Swan Lake)  
> Gef = Odile (Odile is the daughter of Von Rothbart who uses magic to look like Odette)
> 
> ** I needed a random number of days to have passed and I knew I wanted around a year so I picked 394 because of Harry Potter.
> 
> ** Femizonia is actually the name of alternate future Earth, but I figure that maybe it could be named after another shitty planet that also had slaves?


	2. Chapter 2

Of course, it had been Peter.

Yondu should have known better than to assume anything could kill his stupid Terran brat. He grinned, then made the mistake of looking down at the pitiful lump that was currently occupying his lap and felt his face fall. Peter had been so far gone on the drugs by the time they found him that he had just stumbled around, flapping his arms helplessly while Yondu had taken out the slavers. Then, after throwing his shoe at Gef for no apparent reason, he had fainted. Yondu had wanted to take off his collar immediately, but Kraglin had managed to stop him from ripping it off with his bare hands by reminding him that some of them were booby-trapped.

Yondu leaned back in his chair, watching as Kraglin piloted the M-Ship back to the _Elector_. He couldn’t decide if it bothered him or not, how much he had been relying on Kraglin since he had discovered Peter was still alive. It had been Kraglin who had managed to find jobs for some of the more rambunctious crew in and around Femizonia so they had an excuse to be there (“can’t go showin’ no weakness capt’n,” he had said), and it was Kraglin who Yondu was relying on getting them back in one piece. He wouldn’t let anyone take Peter away from him, not until they were safely on board and he had found a way to remove the d’ast collar and eject it out the nearest airlock.

He dropped his head so that his chin rested in Peter’s hair. “I got chu boy,” he growled. “Ain’t never lettin’ ya out o’ my sight again.” Peter didn’t respond, far too drugged to care. Yondu instead focused on Peter’s collar, running his hands along the edges carefully and praying it would come off easily. In his time as a Kree Battle Slave he had seen (and worn) every kind of collar imaginable. Thankfully, Peter’s collar proved to be a fairly simple one and he was able to pull it off with only minor hassle, tossing it aside and making a mental note to burn it.

Under the collar he found something that would prove more difficult to fix, an implant that froze the wearer’s vocal chords, preventing them from making any sound. _Still bein' a pest, eh boy? Ya just don't know when ta stop_. Yondu let out a snort in spite of himself, and when Kraglin glanced over his shoulder he proudly grinned and pointed to the device. _Dat’s my boy_ , he thought, ruffling Peter’s hair. _We’ll get chu all fixed up and pretend dis never happened_.

By the time they docked on the Elector, Yondu’s legs were asleep from Peter’s weight crushing them, and he had to let Kraglin lift the boy while he flexed his legs and stretched his muscles. Peter was light enough for Yondu to easily carry - which he shouldn’t have been, he’d passed Yondu in weight and height long before his capture - and they made their way to the medical bay with ease. It wasn’t top of the line or anything, but it was enough to keep him alive. Yondu settled him on the bed and stepped back, unwilling to leave the room while Peter looked so fragile. A paranoid (but also practical) part of him said there were crew members who would see this as their opportunity to exact revenge on Peter for any number of things he’d done over the years. The part of Yondu that he was trying to ignore said that he was unwilling to leave the closest thing he would ever have to family alone.

So he stayed.

Doc was certainly smart enough not to tell him to leave - he would still have to answer for why he had told Yondu that Peter had died when it was so obvious he hadn’t, but for now he was their best bet at keeping the boy breathing.

He stood across the room, hovering in the shadows as Doc stripped Peter and ran instruments across him, taking readings of each cut and bruise. Yondu didn’t need to see the readings to know what they were saying. He had learned at a young age what different bruising patterns meant. What he saw on Peter turned his stomach.

Yondu stormed from the room before he lost his temper.

He wasn’t sure how he ended up in the captain’s quarter’s, throwing various trinkets at the wall, punching the metal until his knuckles bled, stomping barefoot across the floor as shards of glass cut into his feet. He wasn’t sure how he ended up there, but he was sure it wasn’t helping. The leg of his desk chair was broken, so Yondu simply pushed it aside and sat on the ground next to it, lowering his head into his hands and trying to breathe.

> “This isn’t going to help,” Stakar murmured, using the soothing tone he reserved for Yondu and Yondu alone. His hand was wrapped gently around Yondu’s wrist, keeping a bandage on the injuries. “What is this going to help?”
> 
> “Pain is da answer.” Yondu was small. Young. Repeating things that the Kree slavers had told him his whole life. “If ya don’t know what ta expect, expect pain.”
> 
> Stakar visibly flinched, recognising the Kree infulence in his words. “And what do we say about Kree teachings?”
> 
> Yondu looked up at him, feeling a soft smile in spite of the fear and pain. “Bullshit.” Stakar grinned back at him.

Yondu growled, trying to shove away the memory of his mentor. “Pain doesn’t fix anything,” Stakar had said.

 _Shut up_ , Yondu thought. _You isn’t here, ya don’t get no say_. But he stood anyway and started brushing the broken glass into a pile that he could deal with later. Picking the shards out of his feet was less easy, but he was used to dealing with injuries so he did so with minimal wincing. Then he put his boots back on, grabbed his coat, and stomped to the medical center. It was time to stop moping and start getting answers. _Kick ass and take names_ , Peter would say. Yondu grinned. 

* * *

He was dead.

Bright lights and muffled voices had been his only companion since he had determined he was not, in fact, dancing in a weird ballet. That didn’t mean he had any idea what was going on, but he had seen a lot of movies and he was pretty sure that the afterlife was brilliantly lit. Peter wasn’t sure how long he had lain there before his sight and hearing returned, but by that time the lights had dimmed (or his eyes had adjusted) and the voices had faded away. He was alone in a shockingly familiar environment.

It was only fitting that the afterlife looked like the inside of the _Elector_. Peter resisted the urge to roll his eyes, wondering which Celestial he had pissed off enough to warrant this. Instead, he focused on sitting up, wincing despite the pain in his body. _I thought it wasn’t supposed to hurt when you’re dead_ , he thought bitterly. _Course I get the shitty afterlife_. The movement caused an alarm to sound, and he rolled to the side, reaching out his hand for the table next to him. _Please let there be a weapon_.

“Pete!”

He’d know that voice anywhere. _Yondu_. His hand closed around a hypodermic needle and he swung as the blue blur he vaguely processed to be Yondu came closer. Judging by the groan and the way his hand jolted on the impact he had hit something.

Then his body fell out of bed and he lost consciousness again, the last thing he registered was being pulled into warm blue arms.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve had some requests for a Stakar cameo and while I can’t promise he will show up, let’s just say Peter might make some hasty and rash decisions. And he will definitely be discussed and in more flashbacks. 
> 
> And, because I forgot to mention it sooner, Peter is in his mid teens at this point. I’m thinking 16/17. He is a smol.

After Peter’s impromptu escape attempt - Yondu would be lying if he said he wasn’t proud of his boy for trying - they made the decision to move Peter back to his room. Given the fact that he seemed to have been a cross between an experiment and a toy he would probably appreciate not being in a medical setting. And with his room being close to Yondu and Kraglin, keeping an eye on him would be as easy as ever. Not to mention, the Doc was rarely needed to be in the medical center anyway (Ravagers were not known for taking proper care of themselves).

It would - hopefully - make Peter less visible to the more violent members of the crew. Sure, even many of Yondu’s men hated slavers and more than just their captain were former slaves themselves, but they didn’t allow weakness.

Peter slept soundly through the move, heavily sedated and completely oblivious to everything. Once he was in his room they eased off on the sedatives, hoping he would wake up sooner rather than later. Yondu offered to watch him as Doc did research, trying to find a medical center where they could have his silencer removed without anyone asking too many questions. Yondu was more than a bit pissed at the Doc for telling him Peter was 100% dead, although, given what he knew of Peter’s family he wouldn’t be surprised if fixing exploding hearts was just a thing he could do. If his dad could make his own planet who was to say what his son could or couldn’t do? Kraglin had an annoying habit of reminding Yondu that either way they needed Doc alive if they wanted to save Peter.

Yondu distracted himself by searching through more job boards (he still had to pretend he gave a shit about anyone besides Peter and maybe a handful of others), trying to find something to keep his crew occupied. _Routines are good_ , Stakar’s voice reminded him. _They make it easier to forget all the bad shit_.

 _Shut it_ , Yondu thought back.

He was engaged enough in the job boards - Stakar wasn’t wrong about it being a useful distraction - that he didn’t notice when Peter first began to wake up. His eyes opened and he stared up at the ceiling, then looked around and caught a glimpse of Yondu out of the corner of his eye. He shifted about uncomfortably on the bed and struggled to sit up only to fall back into his pillows with a quiet groan.

Yondu finally heard the noise and turned sharply. “Steady Pete,” he said, reaching out to gently push the Terran back into the bed. “Ya ain’t all dere right now.”

Peter opened his mouth to respond - no doubt something snarky and less than grateful for his rescue - but he was stopped by the silencer in his vocal chords. “We’s still working on dat,” Yondu said, reaching out to touch where the implant shone on Peter’s neck, then pulling back when he flinched at the touch.

Peter tried to say something again, then pointed to his ear and gave Yondu a less than happy look. “Whatchu want boy?” Another point at his ear, then he rubbed behind it at the scar from where his translator had been implanted years before.

“Ah shit.” Yondu had nearly forgotten - by choice - that slavers had a habit of turning off their property’s translators when they were being transported or sold. If the slave couldn’t understand what you were saying, they couldn’t argue or make a nuisance of themselves.

Each translator was fitted with a specific serial number and methods of hacking them changed from brand to brand, but Yondu had no doubt that Peter’s captors had him long enough to figure out how to shut it down. “Gimme a minute.” At this point, there was no point in talking to Peter, not if he had no idea what was being said to him, but Yondu liked the sound of his own voice enough to continue.

He tossed his pad onto Peter’s bed and pushed himself to his feet, stomping out of Peter’s room. He had kept all those important bits about Peter in a drawer in his room, shut with a lock even Peter hadn’t managed to crack yet. It took a few minutes of rummaging, but eventually, he found what he was looking for and shut the drawer with a resounding snap before returning to check on Peter.

The youth was still in bed, barely having moved since Yondu left, except possibly to curl more tightly around himself. Yondu pushed the override against Peter’s neck and clicked the reset button. It was never good to need to reset a translator as they were meant to learn and grow with the wearer, so no doubt Peter would have major adjusting to do until it figured out exactly what it was working with.

“Dat good?”

Peter nodded. Yondu was aware enough to know that this was when he should say or do something - that’s what Stakar would have done with him, said something vaguely nonsensical but still reassuring - but he didn’t even know where to start. “Ya feeling alright?”

Peter made a face and Yondu snorted. “Well, least you’s alive. ‘Ere I go, saving yer hide again.”

* * *

 

Waking up to Yondu for the second time had been less than pleasant, even if he was in his own room this time. Peter was now fairly sure that he wasn’t dead, although what Yondu wanted with him was well beyond his capabilities to figure out. The worst part had been realizing that his translator was off - again - and being subjected to listening to the harsh grunts mixed with clicks and whistles that compromised Yondu’s language.

He’s hated those noises the first time he had heard them and he hated them more now.

Yondu had been polite enough to stomp off and get something to fix it - after more grunts and whistles that were probably complaining - and returned with something that had overridden it. Of course, Peter hadn’t had the slightest idea what he was getting and had laid in his bed in fear. Assuming the worst of Yondu was a habit that had only gotten worse after his capture, he didn’t see why he had any reason left to trust the man who so far had taken him away from Earth, refused to return him, threatened to eat him, and abandoned him to slavery.

Nope, anyone who could do even a fraction of that was an asshole.

Peter snuck at glance at Yondu who was once again focused on the pad in his hands. He was thirsty and hungry and everything was starting to hurt again but he doubted Yondu would care even if he managed to communicate his needs to him. Instead, Peter tried to sit up again, only to be pushed back into his bed by Yondu. He glared.

“Ya need ta be restin,” the captain explained.

 _Fuck off_ , Peter thought bitterly. He was tempted to turn his back to Yondu and lay the other way, but he wasn’t sure he could trust Yondu enough to look away from him.

“Ya need anything?”

Peter wanted to laugh. _I don’t need anything except for you to stay out of my life_ , he thought bitterly. There was no reason for Yondu to get him anything - why was he the one keeping an eye on him anyway? - It had to be a trick or some kind of hallucination. “Doc said ya might be thirty when ya woke up, sumthing ‘bout those meds he gave you.”

Peter nodded slowly startled as Yondu fetched him a glass of water and held it to his mouth. As much as he was loathe to admit it - and because he was still waiting for Yondu to dump the water on him and laugh - he wasn’t sure he could hold the glass on his own even if he needed to. After gulping nearly half the glass he gave Yondu a weak nod of thanks and closed his eyes, exhausted again and wanting to sleep.

“Ya jus’ rest, some ‘un will be ‘ere when you’s awake.”

 _Just as long as it ain’t you_ , Peter thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I imagine Yondu speaks a mix of Kree and Centauran. Disney XD’s Guardians series has a bit of him talking without the translator if you want to check it out to see what he sounds like: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GF7bCK9wcBs


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm currently on a road trip, propped in the back seat with pillows and my computer, so if there are any mistakes I'll fix them once I get to real wifi and have time. 
> 
> I published a one-shot based on the flashback with Stakar and Yondu last chapter. If you haven't checked it out already, its [Pain is the Answer](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14832170).

They certainly didn’t seem to be in a hurry to fix his voice.

Yondu insisted that it “ain’t dat easy” to find someone who could fix it, but Peter didn’t care what he thought, either way, he was sick and tired of communicating through vague gestures and pointing. He had seen Doc replace people’s limbs, how hard could a throat be? Peter figured they just thought he was easier to deal with if he couldn’t talk to them, they had implied as much before his capture.

He could have dealt with the imposed silence if they would just leave him alone. Every time he woke up - he was still slipping in and out of consciousness fairly often, probably thanks to Doc - someone was with him. More often than not it was Yondu or Kraglin (and why they were spending so much time with him when they had an entire flarking ship to run was beyond Peter), but he’d also been visited by Tulk, Horuz, and a few of the other Bridge Crew members. It seemed Yondu wanted to keep an eye on him - wanted him more or less intact - if he was sending his closest associates to keep an eye on him.

Peter glanced toward his babysitter of the hour - Kraglin, the scruffy first mate - and nodded toward the bathroom adjoining his quarters. Kraglin made to stand up and follow him, but one look from Peter was enough that he stayed put. _Once they fix my voice, we are having a long talk about personal boundaries_ , he thought bitterly.

Once he was finished using the toilet, Peter stood and stared at his reflection in the cracked mirror. He looked like shit, which was fair since that was about how he felt. Doc had explained that it was probably the drugs he had been on. They were meant to be used to keep a patient sedated for long periods of time - long enough for sale and transport - but Peter had been taken off them as soon as they Ravagers found him.

He shrugged off his shirt, staring with bleary eyes at his chest. He’d lost any baby fat he had still retained, along with most of his muscle mass, leaving him looking pale and drawn, almost corpse-like. Peter gulped and reached for his shirt, pulling it back on slowly. Although tempted, he didn’t remove his pants to examine the rest of his body, there were some things he just didn’t want to see the evidence of.

 _Deep breaths. Move on. Ravagers don’t sulk_. Granted, they also usually didn’t get hours (days, weeks? Peter had lost track of time) of sick leave while being babysat by the captain’s closest associates. _I didn’t ask for any of this_ , he reminded himself bitterly.

“Ya’ll right in there, kid?”

Peter glared at the door, stomping to it and ripping it open, giving Kraglin a furious glare. The first mate held up his hands in surrender. “Just don’t want chu dyin’ on my watch,” he explained, trudging back to the spot he had claimed at Peter’s desk. “Capt’n’d have my hide.”

 _Oh really?_ Peter thought, shaking his head in disbelief as he limped back to his bed. Kraglin watched him. “Ya doin’ okay, Pete?”

Peter nodded, not wanting to prolong communication any longer than strictly necessary.

“Right. Well, Captn reckons he’s found someone ta fix yer neck so’s you’ll be back to yer normal asshole self soon.”

 _Thanks. I feel the love_.

“Then we just ferget all dis ever happened, right Petey? It’ll be jus’ like ol’ times.”

Peter flopped onto his side, glowering at the far wall. _Sure_ , he thought. _I’ll just forget all this and act like it never happened. That’s easy to do_. He snapped up his pad, flipping to a random article, and started reading. Kraglin took the hint and fell silent. Not for the first time, Peter found himself wishing he had his walkman so he could drown out everything that was happening around him. He had checked for it, the first time he had been well enough to stand and move about his room, but he hadn’t been able to find it anywhere and had been forced to believe Yondu must have junked or sold it. _Asshole_. 

* * *

Peter was panicking. He had been ever since they had told him they’d found a doctor who could remove the chip in this throat and it was only getting worse as they grew closer to the planet. He was seated in the helm of Yondu’s M-Ship - buckled into his own seat this time - and staring straight ahead, his knuckles almost white from holding onto the armrests. Yondu had thought he would be ecstatic to finally get the chip removed, but if anything he seemed to be dreading it.

Giving up on keeping his mind off the Terran, Yondu passed the controls to Kraglin and then dug into the pockets of his coat. “Been meanin’ ter give ya dis,” he said, extracting Peter’s Walkman, bright orange headphones still wrapped around it. “Kept slippin’ my mind.”

Peter’s face lit up, seeming far more cheerful than he had at any other point since his rescue, and he held out his hand for it, mouthing what might have been a _thank you_. Of course, Yondu wasn’t the greatest at reading lips and it almost might have been _Fuck You_ , but he decided to believe it was the former rather than the later and handed it over with a grin.

“You’s lucky boy,” Yondu told him, feeling the moment had become far too touchy and emotional. “I damn near sold dat ting.” Peter scowled and shoved the headphones over his ears, the closeness of the moment broken. Beside Yondu, Kraglin snorted as if to say, _bullshit_.

It turned out that Yondu had been right about the walkman - _I’m always right_ , he thought smugly - and it did seem to calm Peter’s frayed nerves as they navigated the narrow roads of the crowded market. It certainly wasn’t the most reputable looking establishment, but then again, no one who dealt in the body modifications used by slavers could be that upstanding.

Peter kept pulling at his collar, as though afraid someone would see the chip in his skin and say or do something. “Stop dat,” Yondu hissed. “Yer gonna draw attention! What’s rule number one o’ blendin’ in?”

Predictably Peter was unable to answer.

“Act casual,” Kraglin filled in.

Yondu nodded. “Like ‘e says.” 

They made it to the clinic in little time at all, although, to Yondu it felt like centuries as he tried to keep an eye on Peter to make sure he didn’t get grabbed or lost. The sooner he was back to fighting everything that moved, the safer he was going to be.

Inside was even scummier looking than the outside, the words _infection risk_ , and _unsanitary_ filtering through Yondu’s head in Martinex’s hollow voice. _Go ‘way_ , he thought bitterly. _Need you ‘bout as much as I need Stakar_. Which was a lot more than he would ever admit, especially as Peter took one look at the instrument the doctor intended to use to remove his chip and went stiff.

“Jus’ turn yer music on and don’t look,” Yondu instructed him as the man continued prepping his instruments. Peter did as he was told, clamping on his headphones and squeezing his eyes shut.

“Now are you certain you want the chip removed?” the Doctor looked to Yondu quizzically with two of his eyes. The other four were split between Peter, Kraglin and his tools.

“Whatchu on about?”

“Well, usually they don’t put silencer chips in well-mannered slaves.” He was so matter of fact that at first, Yondu didn’t comprehend what he was talking about. Then, realizing that the man believed that Peter was Yondu’s property, the Centaurian whistled.

With his arrow resting against the doctor’s throat Yondu growled, “Why don’t chu just get dat chip outta my boy, dere?”

“Yes sir,” he squeaked, all six eyes focused on the arrow. “Right away sir.” He moved more efficiently after that, injecting a numbing agent into Peter’s neck and pressing the extractor against the visible part of the chip. Yondu almost warned Peter of the impending sensation, but even if the boy hadn’t been wearing his headphones there wouldn’t have been time before the chip was deactivated and pulled away. Yondu could only imagine the strange feeling from the chip being removed. It had tendrils going all throughout the inside of his neck, looking something like a multilegged creature once removed (Octopus, Peter no doubt would have said. Yondu had looked up Octopus once, since he kept mentioning them, and had to agree, although it had far more than eight ‘legs’). Although it slid out fairly easily once deactivated with the proper equipment, it still had to be an uncomfortable (although, not painful, thanks to the shot) experience.

Peter’s first sound was a terrified scream. Then his eyes landed on Yondu, wide and half feral. “Jackass."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Peter’s afraid of hospitals, he thinks that’s where people go to die. I can relate to him, the smell of the disinfectants they use make me sick with dread. 
> 
> Have you ever had stitches pulled out and you can feel them sliding around under your skin? Because that’s exactly how I imagine the chip feels when it’s being removed, except it goes much deeper.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vacation's going great, but I'm sun-sensitive (we're at the beach) so I get to take lots of breaks and go inside and write.

Yondu didn’t regret fixing Peter’s voice per se, but he did almost miss when Peter wasn’t talking because he couldn’t. Now that he could talk and was choosing not to it was much, much worse. “So. You’s feelin alright?” Peter shrugged, arms folded across his chest. He had clammed up after growling at Yondu in the doctor’s office and had refused to speak since content to be a sulking lump during their return trip to the _Elector_. “Ya sure you’s throat is workin?”

“Yes.” His voice rasped when he spoke, clearly weak from lack of use, but the Doctor had said it would probably heal. It had better, or Yondu was going to find him and rip him apart.

“Jus’ checkin,” Yondu muttered.

Peter shrugged, staring out the viewport of the M-Ship, decidedly ignoring the Ravagers. “A-ways t-th-thought ya liked muh b-est w-when I q-quiet.” It took him far longer than it should have to force out the sentence, his throat and tongue stumbling over the syllables.

“Sure we’s do,” Kraglin replied, beating Yondu to it. “But dis is gettin' real unnervin’ like.”

Peter just shrugged, resuming his stubborn ignoring and pretending Yondu and Kraglin weren’t there. _Ungrateful brat_ , Yondu thought. He almost meant it, but not quite.

Peter stomped off the M-Ship as soon as they landed, no doubt planning on returning to his room. He was still technically under the influence of the numbing agent the Doc had used on him, which had to be a strange feeling. Of course, he probably just wanted to curl up and play his walkman. Yondu figured he ought to let him, if anyone deserved to take a breather it was Peter, so he trailed after him at a slight distance, resisting the urge to lecture him on needing to pull his weight. He didn’t, not really, not yet, but old habits died hard.

Peter didn’t react to Yondu, even as the other followed him into his room, but when he flopped out on his back he gave the Centuarian a hard look and rasped, “You can go.” 

“Jus’ if ya need someum,” Yondu paused in the doorway, feeling conflicted and at a loss for words. “Ya come ta me, ya here? I know’s how yous feel.” Then, before he could get any sappier or divulge any more feelings, he fled.

In his own room, Yondu stared at his collection of trinkets and baubles, his eyes unconsciously shifting through them until he found his most treasured set. They were nearly invisible in the general clutter of the Captain’s Quarters, hidden at the back of his desk, and certainly nothing to look at. One of them, a plastic figurine from an intergalactic circus long since out of business (even before he had aquired it), had clearly been smashed and then glued back together. On the surface, they had nothing in common. The only similarity they shared was their source: Stakar had given them to him.

Yondu clomped across the room to get a closer look at the figures, brushing the dust off the repaired circus performer. Try as he might, he couldn’t erase the memory of Stakar smashing it under his boot from his memory. Perhaps that was the bit that stung more than any other part of his exile, the fact that Stakar had attempted to destroy something he knew Yondu had always seen as a tangible symbol of his freedom. The only reason he hadn't destroyed the glass ornament that had been his first gift to Yondu was because the Centaurian had managed to get his hands on it before Stakar could, clutching it to his chest as he had begged his former friend to listen to him. The collection - which had once been his pride and joy, reminding him of the one person in the galaxy who seemed to give a damn about him - was forever tainted by the memory of their last meeting. He traced the cracks with a damaged finger nail, for once not ignoring or squashing the pain in his chest.

 _This sucks_. 

* * *

 

Peter watched as Yondu left, resisting the urge to laugh. _Yeah, sure. You know exactly what it’s like_. He was aware of Yondu’s less than happy past from eavesdropping on the crew, but they never went into details (especially not when they realized Peter was around) and to be honest, he couldn’t give a damn. Not when he couldn’t erase the sensation of helplessness from his mind.

 _I trusted you, he thought bitterly_. _Sure I knew you were an asshole, but I didn’t realize you were a monster_. Peter forced himself to focus on his walkman, slipping the headphones over his ears and letting the familiar sounds wash over him. _Don’t think about Yondu. Don’t think about him. Just breathe_. _Just sleep._

Easier said than done.

His mom had drug him to a therapist once, when he was younger, and he would probably have been forced back after her death if he hadn’t been kidnapped. Sometimes he allowed himself to remember the things the man had told him, the suggestions for healing and coping. Of course, they hadn’t been talking about rape, but feelings were feelings in the end, right? Of course, the first thing you were supposed to do was find someone trustworthy who you could talk to and that was the last thing Peter foresaw himself being able to do. Then you were supposed to have a stable environment, which would never happen on a pirate ship.

He was fucked.

Peter rolled over, wrapping his arms around himself, fighting against the tightening feeling in his throat and the itch behind his eyes. It had been a long time since he had allowed himself to cry - Ravagers don’t cry, Yondu had sneered more than once - but there came a point where even the strongest broke, right? That was what he told himself as fat tears rolled down his cheeks, even if he wasn’t completely certain why he was crying.

 **Pain** from where the numbing agent was wearing off and his body was starting to process that something had just been ripped from his throat?

 **Fear** that something was going to go wrong again and he was going to end up right back where he started?

 **Hurt** because he had thought - however foolishly - that he could trust Yondu not to leave him with slavers for over a year?

 **Longing** because he missed his mother? Or even longing for some sort of relationship with Yondu, even though he hated the pirate as often as not.

He lost track of how long he laid in his bed, a sniveling, sniffling lump. But finally, he was able to get to his feet and wipe off all evidence of what he had been doing. If he was going to be staying - and at this point, what choice did he have? - he wasn’t going to do so quietly. He needed answers and knew just where to get them.

Ignoring the exhaustion that had been creeping up on him for hours, Peter punched the call button on his wrist comm. “Tullk?” he asked, putting on his best poor, pitiful Terran routine.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a large chunk of the middle prewritten, so it's going together pretty well.
> 
> My aunt has been making me watch Friends which I've never really seen and she was talking about how much she LOVES Paul Rudd and I just went "that's ANT-MAN couldn't you have picked a better superhero?!" Nothing against Antman, but she wants to marry him.

As he had predicted, his woe is me routine had worked like a charm on Tullk. The Ravager had always had a soft spot for Peter (hell, he was probably the one member of the crew that hadn’t ever seemed all that interested in eating him) which might have had to do with the rumors that he had lost his own children at a young age. Either way, Peter actually felt a bit guilty about manipulating him. Only a bit.

Tullk plodded down to Peter’s room once his shift on the bridge was finished, knocking on the door and politely waiting for to be let in.

“Ya feelin’ better?” he rumbled as the door opened. Peter nodded his bravado from earlier beginning to fade. Suddenly he wasn’t so sure he wanted whatever it was he thought he was going to get out of Tullk. “Capt’n says yer voice is all better now, course, ya ain’t been usin’ it so I’s suppose it still hurts or somma.”

Peter swallowed his hesitation, _this is what you wanted_ , he reminded himself. “I s-sound like Kra-gin now,” he rasped.

Tullk snorted. “Better him than ol’ Tazey.”

Peter laughed, then started coughing. Tullk watched him with concern but didn’t actually step forward to do anything, knowing that more likely than not his help would be swatted away. Once he was more or less in control of his breathing again, Peter motioned Tullk inside, shutting the door behind him. “Ya know, Capt’n’s been real worried ‘bout you.”

Peter raised an eyebrow. _Keep talking_ , he thought desperately. This was what he wanted to hear about.

“Sure.” Tullk made himself at home in Peter’s desk chair. “Ain’t been da same since ya died. Course ya ain’t dead, but chu know what I means.”

Peter nodded, not trusting his voice and hoping that Tullk would just continue to ramble. Besides Kraglin, Tullk was probably the one who knew Yondu best and Tullk was far more likely to get talking. If all else failed, alcohol was well known to loosen his lips.

“Been like the exile all over again, ya remember a bit o’ dat.”

 _Bingo_. Peter sat up hopefully. “A lil,” he whispered, not fighting the rasp in his throat. “Wha was it ‘bout?” 

Tullk raised an eyebrow at his question. _Shit. Too Obvious_. Then he laughed. “I were wondering when you’s was gonna ask,” he said, pushing his dreadlocks back out of his face. “Didna think I ain’t gonna guess what you was really after Pete?”

He scowled. “Tink I got a right ta know.”

“Ain’t my place ta say.”

Peter quickly reassessed the situation. So far, he wasn’t getting what he wanted. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t keep trying. “Isn’t fair.”

“Life ain't, ask Capt’n.”

“Like e’d tell muh.”

Tullk’s face softened somewhat. At least he wasn’t laughing anymore. “What da ya know ‘bout the exile?”

“He b-broke the code. O-ot-her’s don’t talk to us.” Peter cleared his throat, then struggled to continue. “T-thought da code was jus’ don’t steal from each otter.”

Tullk tapped his fingers against Peter’s desk, no doubt wondering how much he could say without causing too much of a fight with the captain. “Ravager Code’s a helluva lot more than dat.”

Peter raised an eyebrow. “R-really?”

“Dat’s the main part.” He pulled at his hair in distress, clearly torn between answering Peter’s questions and not wanting to betray his captain. “Listen, Pete. It ain’t my place ta tell ya.”

Peter sighed dramatically.

“I’ll tell ya part, but chu don’t push for no more, we gotta deal?”

“Yes sir!”

Tullk laughed. “Ya ain’t called me sir since you’s figured out I weren’t gonna eat ya.” He leaned back in the desk chair, rolling his shoulders and making himself comfortable. “Capt’n’s gonna be livid,” he grumbled to himself.

“Sorry.”

Tullk shrugged. “He shouldda listened ta me when I said ya had a right ta know.” Surely even Yondu wouldn’t be too pissed at Tullk, the two seemed to be friends, more or less. “Ya know why ‘e hates Kree?”

“Dey pulled off ‘is -” Peter gestured at his head, not remembering the proper word for whatever it was Yondu had before the red implant he now used to control his arrow.

“Fin. Crest. Whatever ya wanna call it,” Tullk explained, rubbing his eyes. “Dat really all ya know?”

That was all Yondu had ever admitted to him. “I-I heard rumors.” He looked past Tullk, refusing to meet his eyes. “I don’t believe ‘em.” Not anymore. Once he hadn’t had any opinions one way or another on rumors that Yondu had once been a slave. But after everything he had been through in the last year he couldn’t believe them. No one could possibly have abandoned someone - anyone - to that after having experienced it for himself.

“He were a slave.”

Peter let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “Then why the hell did he leave me?” It seemed anger made his voice function properly, the sentence was more complete than most he had managed since the chip was removed.

“We thought ya was dead.” That was what Yondu kept saying. Peter didn’t believe him (couldn’t believe him). But if Tullk was saying it…….

“How?”

“Capt’n saw ya git shot. Right through the heart. Everything in yer chest went boom.”

Peter took a moment to process. He remembered getting shot, remembered Doc and Yondu leaning over him and talking, but that was where everything went hazy. He still had a scar on his chest from the wound, although it was hard to pinpoint under his array of bumps and bruises from his captivity. “Not possible.”

Tullk just shrugged, Peter got the feeling there was something there he wasn’t being told but didn’t press the issue and let them move on. “Cap was sold by ‘is own parents when he was just a lil brat.”

Peter swallowed painfully. _Oh_.

“Stakar - dat’s the Ravager Admiral - freed ‘im ‘round two decades later, give or take a few. We ain’t too sure.”

 _Two decades_. Peter swallowed.

“Few years later, Yondu becomes Capt’n o’ his own ship. Man comes forward, want’s someun done. He’s lookin’ for kids - none specific just wants ta give ‘um a good home." Tullk sighed, looking wistful. "Ravagers don’t deal in kids, but they were going somewhere good.”

Peter stared, his head swimming as he struggled to process what Tullk was saying. Yondu had been picking up kids for someone? Why? Had he been one of those kids? If so, why had they picked him and why hadn’t they dropped him off?

“What about-”

“I ain’t done.” Tullk waved him off. “Anyway, ‘bout the time we picked you up we start realizin’ someting ain’t right. Dose kids we took ‘im ain’t showin’ back up again. Not ever. So Cap dropped all contact and we kept ya.”

“Thought I was a snack.”

Tullk snorted. “Don’t kid yerself, there’s those on dis crew that probably would eat cha if Cap’d let ‘em.”

Peter rolled his eyes. _Sure. Thanks, buddy. Really reassuring_.

“Stakar found out anyway,” Tullk said softly, easing back into his story without any preamble. “Banished us for trafficking kids.”

“You broke the rules.”

“We thought we was takin’ orphans somewhere better.”

He supposed that made some sort of sense, especially considering that they had stopped at some point ( _with me_ , Peter thought somewhat guiltily, wondering how many other kids had just vanished).

“Listen, Pete. Don’t chu go bringing none o’ dis up with the Cap. He took Stakar’s exile real personal like.”

“Does he even have feelings?” Peter grumbled.

Tullk snorted. “Somewhere.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tazey is Tazerface. Don’t ask why. It just is. 
> 
> Tullk is unashamedly based on Hagrid. I just keep picturing him saying “I shouldn't have told you that. I should NOT have told you that.” But at the same time he's decided that Peter needs to understand some of the things that have happened to him (clearly he lied about some of it and omitted a LOT).


	7. Chapter 7

If Tullk wasn’t going to give him any more answers, then Peter wasn’t entirely certain what he was supposed to do. He laid on his back, glaring up at the ceiling. The man had trudged out after extracting a promise that Peter wouldn’t tell Yondu where he had gotten his newfound information from.

Peter wasn’t dumb enough to go ask Yondu about it. Even if he cared as much as Tullk seemed to think he did. Either way, Yondu would still rather run him through with an arrow than confess to having any actual emotions or “any of that weak sissy shit” as the Captain himself would no doubt say.

Kraglin was also an option, but given the fact that he thought they could just move past everything that had happened to Peter as though it was nothing, he discounted him as an option. He didn’t fancy having his life compared to Yondu’s which was probably what would happen. He could already hear the other man saying, “now Pete you got it real good. They only raped ya a few times.” Alright, so maybe he wouldn’t go that far, but still.

Kraglin was too loyal to Yondu to spill, anyway. Not that Tullk wasn’t loyal, but he seemed to actually have a life outside of the Ravagers until Kraglin who lived, breathed, and slept the pirate life. He’d sooner eject himself out an airlock than reveal any secrets about Yondu.

He needed answers about Yondu and Stakar and the whole exile mess, and if he couldn’t get them out of Yondu, that left him with only one option. He’d have to find Stakar. 

* * *

Yondu hadn’t seen hide nor hair of Peter since their return from getting his throat unfrozen, but he supposed that might be for the best. Tullk had gone to check on him, so at least he knew the kid was alive. Now that he was more or less mobile and able to care for himself, Yondu didn’t worry as much about having someone constantly by his side. It was a good thing too if he’d had to keep it up much longer, there was no telling who would have said something stupid.

Of course, he was sure stupid things were being said, but as long as they weren’t said in his presence he tended to ignore them. The Ravager Captain stood on the bridge and tapped his foot, pretending to be interested in Horuz’ rundown of everything that had happened while he had been dealing with Peter.

He wasn’t really interested in what was being said, he’d be far more interested in checking up on Peter and to see if he was doing better, but he kept himself under control. It wasn’t like Peter would want him checking up on him anyway, the boy was very determined that he was a Grown Adult (he wasn’t, Yondu had checked Terran age of majority years ago) and could make decisions for himself (they just tended to end in explosions, literally or not).

At least for as long as Peter was playing invalid (Yondu still was unable to force himself to send Peter back to work, even chores around the ship) he was more or less staying out of trouble. Yondu doubted it would last, it never did, but he could enjoy it while it did.

A notification popped up on his pad, someone was trying to hack into a computer terminal. Yondu frowned, seeing that the only call sign in that area was Peter’s. Ordinarily, he would leave Peter to his own devices, if he could figure out how to get into the computer then his reward was to get whatever he wanted. But Yondu took pity on him, typing in the passcode to allow him entry into the computer. From Peter’s end, it would just look like he had hacked the computer successfully. He’d never know that Yondu had given him access to the computer and it was probably better that way.

Yondu didn’t bother to look at what Peter was searching, figuring that whatever it was couldn’t be the end of the world. By the time he looked back at the screen, Peter's biosignature was headed down to the hanger, no doubt headed toward the ship he had been fixing up for years that he thought Yondu didn't know about.

* * *

 

Hacking the computer wasn’t as hard as it should have been. Yondu had taught him well. Too well, apparently. Peter grinned, proud of himself (a feeling that was only dampened by the fact that he couldn't exactly go boasting to anyone about what he had managed). A quick search of the name Stakar pulled up a last name and ship designation.

> **Name: Stakar Ogord**
> 
> **Rank: Admiral**
> 
> **Ship: Starhawk**

Peter swallowed back his nerves. He deserved - no, needed - answers. He was going to get them if it killed him. Which, to be fair, was entirely a possibility. He copied down the information he would need to place a call (Yondu’s reccord keeping was a lot better than anyone gave him credit for) and then snuck away, erasing any proof that he had ever accessed the computer terminal.

His current base of operations was a forgotten M-Ship, which was more or less in pieces in the hanger. It seemed no one had been there since the last time he’d snuck aboard - months ago, before his capture - as the place was filthier than ever and none of his stolen prizes had been moved. Good. He had originally zeroed in on the thing as a good place to hide from Yondu, but over time he’d started moving in things that he didn’t want the others to know about - mostly his remaining Terran possessions - and before long he’s started fixing it up. The inside of the ship was more or less completely functional, even though it was far from spaceworthy and a dilapidated mess on the outside.

Peter didn’t care. It still felt like home. He shoved _Awesome Mix Vol. 1_ into the tape deck he had managed to build into the wall of the ship and pressed play, then hurried into the cockpit and started fiddling with the communication array. There had never been a reason to get it functioning before, but fortunately, it hadn’t been too badly damaged in whatever had caused it to be forgotten at the edge of the hanger.

He had it running before he even got any messages on his comm - the one on his wrist had a limited distance it could be used across, and he had a feeling Yondu could track what he used it for anyway -demanding to know where he was, which he considered to be a success, considering what he intended to do next. Yondu looking for him was the quickest way to ensure his plan exploded in his face.

The comm array was older than most of the ones Peter was used to working with, and he quickly punched in the information he had gotten from the computer and then hit call. Then he sat back to wait. He wasn’t left hanging for long.

“Who is this and how did you get this number?” rumbled the deep voice that answered.

He had to think fast. Peter hadn’t actually planned on getting a line straight to the man (didn’t Ravager Admirals understand the use of voicemail?) and hadn’t really had a plan for what he was going to say. “My name is Peter Quill. I think Yondu kidnapped me.”

_Shit. Bad plan. Back-up. Too late._


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really on a roll with this story and boy oh boy do I have ideas. 
> 
> I've also started a new story, [The Mutiny](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14863941), if you've been enjoying my writing of Stakar.

“My name is Peter Quill. I think Yondu kidnapped me.”

Stakar felt as though someone had punched him in the lungs, or perhaps sucked him into the vaccum of space. Either way, the speed at which all the air in his lungs left them couldn’t be natural. He looked around the bridge if anyone had heard what was said they hadn’t reacted (which led him to believe they hadn’t heard, his crew wasn’t exactly subtle). He nodded to Martinex, letting the man know to take control, then exited the bridge as quickly as he could without being too obvious.

On the other side of the line, Peter was stumbling over his words. “Okay, well, actually, you see, aww shit. This is why I don’t do the negotating.”

Stakar stepped into a closet, locked the door, and pulled up a video call. “Oh, hey.” The face that greeted him was older looking than most of the kids he’d known Yondu to be moving, but that didn’t mean much. He looked terrible as well, far too think and pale, what little skin was visible appeared bruised. His voice rasped when he spoke, as though it had been deprived of water or use.

Yondu Undonta was going to pay. Stakar couldn’t turn a blind eye to…. Whatever the hell this was.

“Are you alright kid?”

“Huh? Oh.” He reached up to trace one of the healing scars on his face. “That’s a long story.”

It wouldn’t take much time to trace the call, but it would take time to reach whatever location the kid was in. He needed to keep the boy talking if he was going to save him. “Yondu do that to you?” 

“What?” Alright, so he wasn’t the brightest person ever, but that didn’t make him any less worthy of being saved. His location pinged through - the dumb kid hadn’t even bothered to try and stop his call from being traced (although, given that he was calling for help, that made sense) - and Stakar sent it to Martinex along with a note to get them there as fast as possible and ask questions later. “Nah, that was the slavers.”

 _Slavers?_ Yondu was dealing in slaves now? Stakar bit back a growl. Even if he was planning on ripping Yondu limb from limb, showing his anger in front of an abused child wasn’t going to get him anywhere good. “Slavers?” He punched several buttons on his own comm array which would override whatever the boy had done and hide the call from anyone on the _Elector_ who happened to be checking. 

“Yeah,” the kid muttered, looking down at something that didn’t show up on the viewscreen. “Yondu left me with them, apparently thought I was dead or something. He came back once he figured out I was still alive.”

He paused. “Pardon?” Stakar asked slowly. It was hard to get a reading on the kid, he was jumping from subject to subject far too quickly. There was clearly more to the story than Stakar was getting and he had a sinking feeling that until he got it he couldn’t fully pass judgment on Yondu.

“You wanna start back at the beginning, kid?” Stakar asked, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Peter cocked his head. “Uhhh, well. Look, to be honest, I wasn’t expecting you to answer so I don’t actually have a plan. Maybe like, eleven percent of one. Maybe.”

“Eleven percent of a plan?” The kid was insane. Maybe it was all a huge joke that Yondu had somehow orchastrated in a sort of strange revenge plot. Or perhaps being around Yondu had simply driven him to true insanity.

“You see, Tullk didn’t want to answer my questions and Yondu’d be pissed as hell if I asked him.” Peter shrugged. “So I thought I’d ask you?” He sounded desparate, too much so to have faked it.

Stakar nodded slowly, leaning back against the wall of the supply cupboard. “Why don’t you start by telling me what Tullk told you?” He leaned his head back against the cool wall, closing his eyes. “Then I can, you know, fill in the gaps.”

“Okay!” Peter shifted, getting himself comfortable in his seat, clearly excited to have someone paying attention to him. “He said that- was Yondu really a slave?”

 _Oh hell_ , Stakar was not prepared for this. _I need a drink_. He sighed. “He was, I doubt he talks about it over much.”

Peter nodded thoughtfully. “Okay…..” He sighed, bouncing slightly in his seat. “He picked me up when I was a kid. He always told me that the crew just wanted a snack and that he saved me from them.” Peter scowled. “Normal people don’t even think about eating other people. He wants me to be grateful for ‘saving’ me!”

“That’s fucked up,” Stakar vollunteered. It was clearly the answer the kid was looking for. It seemed to him that Peter just wanted someone to listen to him for once. _How long have them had him?_

“Tullk says that isn’t what happened,” Peter said softly. “He said that I was cargo, that they were going to sell me to some guy, but that they found out he’d been killing the kids so Yondu kept me.” He sighed. “Why not just leave me on Earth? Uh, Terra.”

“I dunno kid.” Stakar shifted, checking his watch. Martinex said they were getting close. He just needed to keep Peter talking for a few more minutes. “All I know is that the guy’s name was Ego and that he was killing the kids. I don’t know how many Yondu took to him, but if I had to guess, Yondu’s decision to ‘save’ you had more to do with impressing me. Sorry.”

“Ego’s a shit name.”

Stakar laughed. “It sure is.”

“I just,” Peter stopped, his voice suddently becoming thick. _Oh no_ , Stakar thought. _That better not be tears. I am not prepaired to deal with this_. Peter clearly didn’t hear his thoughts, sniffling out, “I don’t understand what’s happening! No one will tell me anything and I keep seeing my owner every time I close my eyes and Kraglin says I just have to forget about it- I- I- I’m sorry I shouldn’t be putting this on you.” He was shaking from the emotions he had clearly been keeping locked up for far too long. “I’m sorry sir.” Peter tapped his chest twice in a farewell, as though finally remembering his manners.

“Kid!” It was too late, Peter had already cut out the call. Calling him back would be too big of a risk, it was too likely that someone else would detect it before he answered.

Stakar hurried back to the bridge. “How close are we?” he asked Martinex.

“We’re still a few hours out at least, Captain,” the Pluvarian replied. “Captain?”

“Yes?”

“May I ask what is the matter?”

Stakar sighed, resisting the urge to send his friend after a stiff drink before he had to explain what was going on. “It’s Yondu. He’s got another kid.”

“Oh.” Martinex seemed thoroughtly disapointed. He had always been convinced that Yondu was secretly a good person, that he must have just made a huge mistake (he hadn’t ever expressed that to Stakar, but it wasn’t hard to figure. For a man made of stone he wore his emotions on his face).

Stakar glanced around, making certain that there weren’t too many prying ears around. “I’m not sure what’s going on with this one. Sounds like they’ve had him for years. I need to talk to him - away from Yondu.”

Martinex nodded, clearly deep in thought. “Is there a plan?”

“Find the _Elector_. Demand they hand over the kid. Figure out if Yondu’s become a threat to the galaxy.” He took a deep breath, steeling himself for the choice he knew he was going to have to make. “Neutralize him if we have to.” Stakar didn’t pretend to be a hero, but he was willing to take responsibility for what he had created. No matter how much he had once loved Yondu (like a son, if he was being honest with himself) he couldn’t let him kill any more kids. He’d give him a quick death. He owed him that much.

Martinex looked thoughtful. “We should pose it as an invitation. It would make the child more at ease.”

“An invitation?”

A nod. “We could take your M-Ship and a small group to dock with the _Elector_. They wouldn’t dare try anything, not with the _Starhawk_ right there. I will distract Yondu and see what I can learn from him while you find the young one.”

Stakar leaned back in his chair thoughtfully. He knew he couldn’t rush into this, not if he wanted to get the answers that he and Peter both clearly wanted. “Find Obfonteri while you’re at it, and Tullk. The boy mentioned them both, they may have more answers.”

He looked out at the expanse of space beyond the viewscreen, trying not to picture a much younger Yondu pushing himself against the glass to drink up as much of the view as possible. “I’m not making any decisions until I have more answers. Summon the others. They have a right to know what’s going on.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've officially hit 1000 hits on this story and thank you so much??? This is by far the most commented on and subscribed to story I've ever written and I love you guys, you're the best!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter's having Emotions. 
> 
> Yondu's about to have a Problem.

“I just,” his voice faded out, he could feel the tears coming on. _Oh no_ , Peter thought desperately, struggling to hold back his emotions. _Not in front of him. He’s the admiral_!

But once the floodgate of his emotions was opened he couldn’t stop it. “I don’t understand what’s happening! No one will tell me anything and I keep seeing my owner every time I close my eyes and Kraglin says I just have to forget about it- I- I- I’m sorry I shouldn’t be putting this on you.” He took a deep breathing, getting control of his sobs long enough to get his hand over the cancel call button. “I’m sorry sir.”

Peter leaned back in his chair, taking huge gulping breaths, trying not to panic. He couldn’t believe he had broken down in front of the Ravager Admiral of all people. _Shit. Shit. Shit_. There had been something incredibly soothing about Stakar’s voice - as though he understood Peter, or, at the very least, as though he cared. He had thought he had his emotions all under control, but at Stakar’s gentle questioning it had all come flashing back to him, everything that had happened, everything that had been done to him.

Drawing his knees up to his chest, Peter wrapped himself in a hug and sobbed into his legs. _Sometimes you have to let it out_ , his therapist had told him, _sometimes you just have to cry_.

Yondu had never had that sentiment. _Ravagers don’t cry_ , he had told Peter time and time again.

 _I want my mom_ , Peter thought weakly.

He couldn’t keep it in, no matter how badly he wanted to. There was no pretending that what had happened hadn’t happened. Yondu would just have to understand, would have to be made to understand.

He fiddled with his wrist comm, finally pushing the button to call his captain. “Y-yondu?” he asked thickly. “You busy?” He paused, trying to decide how to phrase his request. “You said you’d talk to me.” 

“Ain’t busy.” Yondu paused for a moment, as though thinking. “Ya still in that ship ya think I don’ know ‘bout?”

 _Oh_. Peter snorted. Of course, Yondu knew. “Yeah.”

“I’ll be dere.”

Peter curled back in on himself miserably after Yondu cut the call. He wasn’t sure at what point he had gone from wanting his mother to wanting Yondu (or why his brain had made the switch). Yondu was NOT his dad. Yondu was an asshole. But unlike Meredith Quill, Yondu was actually there.

He didn’t have long to wait for Yondu to appear, the man strode onto the wrecked ship with his usual swagger, grunting to announce his presence as he flopped his weight onto the chair beside Peter. “So,” the captain said. “What chu need?”

“I dunno.” Peter shrugged, curling his shoulders in on himself. To his surprise, Yondu didn’t get up and leave, instead shifting to make himself more comfortable.

“Ya really like dis ol’ ship, don’t cha?”

Peter nodded, looking around the dusty cockpit. “I feel safe here. No one bugs me.” 

“Bet we could make ‘er space worthy.” Yondu’s eyes followed Peter’s examining the inside of the ship with clinical curiosity. “Bout time ya had yer own ship. Needs a lock though, make sure no one’s gonna bother ya. ‘Cept me dat is.”

 _What?_ Peter just gaped at Yondu, having a hard time processing what he was hearing. Surely Yondu wasn’t giving him the ship. “I- what?”

Yondu shrugged, clearly trying to make it not a big deal at all (which was entirely unlike him, ordinarily he would be making a huge show and demanding Peter’s undying gratitude). “I figure ya been through enough recently, needed something ta cheer ya up.”

Peter still didn’t know what to stay, spluttering over his thanks and barely able to force the words from his mouth.

“Don’t ya go blubberin’ all over me now,” Yondu threatened. “Sides, ya’s gonna be doin’ all the repairs she needs. I ain’t helping ya.” He folded his arms across his chest, back to playing big, bag space pirate.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

Yondu snorted. “Yeah, yeah, ya’d have claimed ‘er eventually. Might as well give her ta ya so’s you don’t think ya can steal her from me.”

Peter was still somewhere on Cloud Nine, but Yondu’s next words were enough to bring him crashing back down. “So what you call me down ‘ere for, anyways?”

He sighed, staring at his hands and swallowing. “I heard you- I mean, someone said-”

“I were a slave.” Yondu was surprisingly calm as he spoke, as though they were discussing the weather. Maybe he was too calm.

“Does it ever get easier?” Peter whispered. “Do you ever stop thinking about it?”

Yondu sighed, leaning back in the chair and propping his feet on the dash. “Nah. Don’t ever stop thinkin’ bout it. Just gets easier.” He rolled his shoulders uncomfortably. “Jus’ gotta talk it over.”

“Who do you talk about it with?”

Yondu winced. Peter wondered if he’d pushed him too far, he still wasn’t sure what to do with the new, nicer, more talkative Yondu. “It don’t matter, he ain’t ‘ere no more,” he said softly. _Stakar_ , Peter realized with a jolt, wondering what exactly had happened between the two of them. “I ain’t ever gonna leave you like ‘e did. I promise. Ya can always talk ta me. No matter what. Ya call me, I listen.” His face was slightly contorted, as though the act of offering anyone comfort was causing him physical pain. Peter just hoped he understood how much it meant to him.

Peter wondered what had come between Yondu and Stakar, but knew better than to mention his conversation with the other man. _I’ll have to call him back_ , he thought, _see what else I can get out of him. Ask about the other kids_. As it stood, Peter was more willing to believe Tullk’s word - that Yondu hadn’t known anything was going to happen to the kids - than he was willing to believe what Stakar had said about him being a monster.

“Thanks,” Peter mumbled, but the moment was broken by the buzzing of Yondu’s comm, which he quickly clicked to answer.

“Capt’n,” Kraglin’s voice came over his comm, fuzzy and uncertain. “We got incomin’.”

“Yeah,” Yondu growled back. “We fightin’ ‘em or what?

“Its the _Starhawk_.”

 _Starhawk?_ Peter thought, trying to remember why he knew that name.

He didn’t have to wonder for long. “Stakar’s coming ‘ere!?” Yondu demanded. “What’s he want?”

 _Oh. Shit_. Peter wanted to run and hide, to fold himself away into one of the vents until this whole mess was over. But for some reason, he couldn’t, forcing his feet to stay still, even if he couldn’t force himself to look at Yondu’s face. “Yondu, I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I called him.”

“Ya did what, now!?”


	10. Chapter 10

Stakar didn’t believe in praying.

It was hard to when you lived a spacer’s lifestyle when any move (wrong or right) could be your last. When you saw stars go supernova and entire planets wiped of life overnight. In a world where the Kree could do what the wanted and slavery was considered the norm to many people, where the Nova portrayed themselves as saviors while allowing unbridled violence against their prisoners. What was the point in believing in a supreme, higher power when there clearly wasn’t anyone who gave a damn about you or anyone else?

Either way, he found himself tempted to pray as he approached the _Elector_. He desperately wanted his suspicions to be proven wrong, wanted Yondu to not be trafficking another kid. Because if he was, killing him was the only solution he could picture.

The thought made his stomach turn, images of a younger Yondu flashing unbidden across his mind. He’d promised to protect him. It seemed he couldn’t protect him from himself. Stakar ran his hands through his hair, wondering briefly if he was going to have pulled it all out by the end of this trip.

“What if they claim the boy doesn’t exist?” Martinex asked, his smooth voice hiding his emotions and jolting Stakar from his morbid train of thoughts.

“They’re gonna give us the kid or we’re taking him by force.”

Martinex nodded, easily bringing the ship in to dock with the side of the Elector. Yondu had granted them permission to land without even wanting a voice call, either he somehow knew what was going on (in which case, Stakar was terrified for Peter) or he was just that desperate to be returned to his former friend’s good graces.

It took all of Stakar’s self-control not to run for the ramp and grab Yondu to shake him and demand answers. Instead, he reigned in his impatience, and strode down the ramp with Martinex a half step beside him, a small group of his men, hand-picked by the first mate, behind them.

Yondu stood at the head of the group that greeted them and he inclined his head and thumped his chest twice in a sign of respect. “Stakar,” he rumbled. The men with him did the same.

“Undonta.” He wasn’t going to use Yondu’s first name, they weren’t friends anymore.

Folding his arms across his chest, Yondu narrowed his eyes at him. “I hear ya been talkin’ to ma boy.” A small figure stepped out from behind Yondu, his face beet red, eyes downcast. “Hope ya ain’t been tellin’ ‘im no lies.”

“Peter!” Stakar gasped.

“Sir,” Peter mumbled, hanging close to Yondu. The boy looked far worse for the wear than Stakar had been able to realize when he was talking to him over the comm. His clothes fit him poorly, as though he’d suddenly lost a great deal of weight, and his skin was deathly pale, highlighting the scars and bruises.

Yondu gave him a soft shove. “Git on, I ‘spect he wants ta talk ta ya.”

Peter stepped forward, mumbling a soft, “See you around Yondu.”

“Ya’s nothin’ but trouble,” Yondu snipped at him, a smirk on his face. Peter grinned sheepishly, still not looking at anyone. Yondu’s unnerving red eyes turned to Martinex. “I suppose Sparkles ‘ere is muh babysitter?” His nose wrinkled. “Eh, ya’d still make a decent dashboard trinket if dis goes sour.”

Martinex scowled.

Before anyone could bite anyone else’s head off, Stakar wrapped an arm around Peter, giving his shoulder a light squeeze, and led him up the ramp onto his ship. “Come on, kid.”

M-Ships weren’t exactly intended to provide comfort, they were simply meant to be a place to stay for a few hours (a few days at most) before returning to the mothership. But he did the best he could to make the sullen child feel at home, leading him to the largest room and offering him coffee.

“No thanks,” Peter said. “Look, er, Stakar, Sir, I’m really sorry.”

“You don’t have to be sorry.”

“I started this whole mess.”

Stakar frowned, pouring Peter a cup of coffee anyway. “No. Trust me, kid, if there’s one person who didn’t start this, it’s you.” He sat across from Peter and grabbed his own cup, taking a gulp and resisting the urge to add alcohol.

“Then why I am the one being interrogated?”

The admiral snorted. “You’re too smart for your own good, son.”

Peter stiffened. “Don’t call me that.” He shoved himself to his feet, eyes narrowed at Stakar who just blinked up at him weakly, trying to figure out what he had done wrong. “We done here?”

Stakar reached out and caught Peter’s wrist, “Wait,” he said, trying to slow him down.

Peter stiffened at the touch, eyes squeezing shut. “Stop,” he ordered. “Let me go.”

“Peter-” Stakar let go, clamoring to his feet to stand beside the other. “What’s wrong?”

“Don’t,” he snarled, pushing his fists into his face and knucking at his eyes. “Don’t. Don’t. Don’t!” He stoved Stakar, moving as though he wanted to punch him and then thinking better of me. “I’m not broken! I don’t need you going after me too!”

“No one’s calling you broken,” Stakar said, moving forward and preparing to grab Peter if necessary.

“Yes, you are!” Peter shouted, backing away from Stakar, unwittingly putting himself into more of a corner. Stakar stepped after him. “No one will leave me alone, you keep following me!”

“I’m not following you!” he shouted.

Peter stared up at him, his eyes wide. Stakar abruptly took several steps back upon realizing that he was, in fact, following the kid. “Peter-”

“Stop.”

“I’m sorry.” Stakar backed away, giving him breathing room. He hadn’t even been aware of what he was doing, he certainly hadn’t meant to make him feel trapped or followed.

“I don’t know what you want.”

Stakar let out a sigh. _I don’t know what I want, not anymore_. He sat back down at the table, propping his feet on the chair beside him and hoping his relaxed posture would transfer to Peter. “I want to know you’re safe.”

“Why?” His eyes were narrowed. “Why’d you leave Yondu?”

He wasn’t sure he liked the direction the conversation was taking. “He broke the code.”

“He trafficked kids,” Peter supplied. “Tullk said he thought they were gonna be better off.”

Stakar had heard that excuse before, he just hadn’t ever been sure he could believe it. Instead, he countered with, “He shouldn’t have moved kids if there was any risk.”

Peter took a few steps back closer to the table. “I don’t know what’s going on.”

“Neither do I, I’m just making sure you won’t meet the same end. Soon as I know that, I'm more than happy to get out of here.”

Pulling a chair from the table, Peter slowly set himself down in a seat at the table. “Yondu picked me up when I was eight. I’ve been with them since.”

Stakar studied Peter, taking in his battered face and underweight frame. “They feed you?” he asked after a moment.

Peter glanced down at himself, then offered an explanation, “I was captured by slavers. They… did stuff. Bad stuff. Yondu found me a few days ago.” He sighed, crossing his arms over his chest. “That’s when I started asking questions and found you.”

“A few days?” Stakar thought his eyes were going to bug out of his chest, staring in horror at the kid across from him.

“Maybe a week.” He shrugged. “I’m better now.”

“Hell kid,” Stakar shook his head. “You don’t get over that in a week.”

Peter pulled his knees up and hugged them to his chest, seeming to be attempting to make himself smaller. “I have to, otherwise people will just start saying I can’t pull my weight.”

“Yondu say that?”

“What do you have against him!?” Peter’s eyes narrowed.

“He killed kids!”

“Then yell at him about it and leave me out of it!”

Stakar took a deep breath, trying to relax. “Kid I need to know you’re safe.”

“I already said that I am.”

Rolling his shoulders, Stakar leaned back in his chair. “You're just like Yondu, you little jackass.” He snorted. “Its just like dealing with him when I first found him all over again.”

“What was he like?”

Stakar raised an eyebrow. “You up for a deal?”

“What’s in it for me?”

“I answer your questions, you answer mine. Sound good?”

Peter frowned, studying Stakar as though they were opposing each other in a poker game. It was unnerving how focused he was. “Promise to stop shouting?”

“I promise.” 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be warned: this chapter has some intense discussions: child abuse, rape, slavery, torture, body modification, corporal punishment, etc. Ravagers lead a rough life. 
> 
> Longest chapter yet!!! Over 2,000 words!!!

“Alright, since we’re being truthful with each other, I have no clue what is going on here.”

Peter almost laughed, amused by how frustrated the older man seemed. And he seemed to care too, but Peter was choosing to ignore that in favor of remaining mistrustful. Yondu hadn’t told him what to expect. As soon as Peter had revealed that he had called Stakar they had been rushing to the hanger to meet him. Yondu hadn’t even had time to yell at him. Yet.

“You wanna go first?” Stakar was watching him over the rim of his coffee cup.

“How’d you meet Yondu?”

“It wasn’t pretty.” Stakar set his cup down, sizing Peter up and clearly considering how much he should tell. “What the hell, it’s nothing you’ve not seen,” he grumbled. “He was a Kree battle slave, but don’t let that fool you, he wasn’t ordinary cannon fodder. He was a damn good fighter, even before his implant.”

“Before?”

“One question at a time, kid. Anyway, he was owned by one of the Kree Accusers - you know them?” He waited for Peter to nod before continuing, “We’re not freedom fighters, we don’t go after the slave transport ships - don’t give me that look - we didn’t even know there were slaves on board when we attacked. Our scanners just reported that we had better weapons so we thought it would be a good score.”

“Was it?”

Peter was half expecting to be told off for asking the second question, but instead, Stakar’s face turned wistful and he murmured, “I used to think it was.” He sipped his coffee again, lost in thought for a moment before he resumed his story. “I found Yondu in the Accuser’s room - try not to think too hard on what he was there for - he was the only slave on board, some sort of personal guard, and got him out once I convinced him not to rip out my throat.”

Peter nodded, mulling over the information he’d been given. His stomach twisted as he immediately found himself considering the exact thing Stakar had told him not to think about. _I’m gonna be sick_. He swallowed, pulling his knees up to his chest and trying to pass it off as just making himself comfortable.

“My turn,” Stakar said after a moment of silence that Peter couldn’t quite bring himself to fill. “Where’d they get you?”

“Earth. Uh. Terra.”

“Haven’t heard of it.”

Peter shrugged. “Kraglin says it’s a backwater shithole.”

“Huh. Sounds like Kraglin’s kind of place.”

Peter laughed and Stakar joined him. Some of the tension between them melted. “Alright, what do you want to know now?”

Peter squinted at Stakar, surprised he was being allowed to give such a short answer after Stakar’s long story. When the other didn’t rescind his offer, he said, “You mentioned a ‘before’ his implant.” He’d always imagined Yondu and his implant as being one, singular being. It was hard to picture him without it.

“That’s technically not a question,” Stakar pointed out. He didn’t give Peter time to say anything before answering it anyway, “Yeah, he had it done after I rescued him. Damn near got himself killed.” He paused. “The Kree took off his headfin to be pricks.”

“What’d he fight with before?”

“That’s a second question, but it’s small so I’ll give it to ya. His hands. Nails. Teeth. Anything he could get. In my opinion, he’s far more terrifying without the arrow but don’t you dare tell him that.”

“You can have two questions then.” Peter didn’t feel like ending up in debt to Stakar, even if it was over such a small thing. Yondu had always taught him to feel as though he owed anyone anything, and though Yondu had actually meant ‘just screw everyone over’ Peter didn’t want to do that to Stakar.

“What’s Terra like and do you want to go back?”

Peter thought for a moment. No one ever really asked him about his home planet and they certainly didn’t ask if he wanted to go back. “The last person to ask about Terra owned me,” he muttered.

Stakar’s face softened. “You don’t have to answer.”

“I like you more.” He shrugged, hand twitching toward the walkman in his pocket. “It’s got great music. I don’t know if I wanna go back. My momma’s dead and I don’t think the rest of my family would want me.” He had always tried not to think about what his family would have done with him if he’d stayed on Earth. They’d probably just have shuttled him from one relative to another like an unwanted pet.

“I’m sorry.” Peter got the feeling Stakar meant it, and absently wondered about the man’s own backstory. Kraglin had often said that no one with a happy home became a Ravager (‘I was happy!’ Peter would scream at him when he said that).

“Your turn.”

Peter thought for a moment, remembering something Tullk had told him about Yondu thinking he was dead. “Can people live if their heart blows up?”

“None that I’ve ever met. On the bright side, does Yondu have a heart?” He was grinning, (probably?) joking, and Peter managed a grin in return. At least Stakar didn’t realize Peter was referring to his own heart.

Stakar took his turn at questioning.“Alright, so I want to preface this with a caveat that you don’t have to answer. I won’t be upset at all.” He waited for a nod before he continued, “You keep saying someone owned you, what happened?”

Peter flinched. “Yondu killed them.”

“Good.”

Okay, he really did like Stakar. He didn’t give a shit if Yondu approved. “My owner hadn’t ever seen a Terran before, he wanted to learn about me. All of me. Everywhere.”

“Shit kid.” Stakar was clearly able to read between the lines. “You want a drink? Not coffee, I’ve got better, you’ve earned it.”

Peter shook his head. “No thanks,” he muttered. “Yondu thought I was dead, but once he realized I wasn’t he came back for me.” He paused and swallowed uncomfortably. “It took a while.” He paused. “Coffee? Plain?”

Stakar nodded, standing to get him the requested drink. “Your turn. What do you wanna know?”

“Ego.”

“I’ve told you everything I know. His name was Ego and Yondu was selling him kids.” He shrugged, sitting the cup down in front of Peter.

“What did he tell you?”

Stakar sat down, studying Peter. “He claimed he was taking the kids to a better home. He wanted them to have a loving family, something he’d never had. He said he stopped as soon as he realized what was happening to them. I guess that’s about the time he grabbed you.”

“Your turn.”

“Did he really tell you he picked you up to eat you?”

Peter laughed. “Said the crew wanted to eat me.” Stakar shook his head. Peter said, “My turn: does Yondu eat people?”

“He has.” Peter’s heart plummeted. Stakar must have seen it on his face. “He was a battle slave, kid, do you think the Kree carry rations for them?” The admiral shook his head. “I doubt you’re too high on his menu, he was pretty upset about it when he told me.”

“I think he thinks it’s funny.”

“You may have noticed: he’s fucked in the head.” Peter appreciated how blunt Stakar was, as though he had nothing to hide. He wasn’t like Yondu who seemed to delight in keeping all the information to himself as though life was a card game and he was bluffing through a shitty hand. “My turn: what’s your life been like here?”

Peter wasn’t sure how to answer that, so he stayed quiet for a moment, thinking. “I’m not sure. Sometimes I hate Yondu. Sometimes I think I don’t.” He swallowed his brain on overload from getting too much new information in such a short time. “I think - I mean - he was a slave. I don’t think he knows how to treat kids. I- I think he tries.”

“Trust me on this: he knows better than to threaten to eat kids.” Again, Peter was pretty sure Stakar was joking.

“What’s up with those?” Peter pointed to one of the glowing bands on Stakar’s uniform.

“Solar wings.” He shrugged. “I’d show ya, but I don’t have enough room.” Stakar looked around thoughtfully. “I’ll show you sometime.” He sighed, clearly having steeled himself for the question he was about to ask. “Alright, don’t bite my head off for this: have they ever hurt you?”

“Yeah.” Peter looked down at the cup in his hands. “Mostly when I fuck up. Once or twice I think he was just mad.” He sipped his drink to give himself a moment to think. “Yondu broke my wrist once.” They’d been on a mission and he had messed up, ruining the whole thing. Afterwards, Yondu had grabbed him and spun him by his wrist, belt in his other hand, intent on whipping him, accidentally twisting his wrist too far in the process. “He never said sorry.” Stakar looked as though he had several choice words he’d like to say to Yondu, but Peter wasn’t finished. “He never let me be hungry. Never let anyone push me around in front of him. Never kept medical help from me. It could have been worse.”  

“You sound conflicted.”

“Yeah.” He considered bringing up the time Yondu had gotten drunk when he was a kid, the Centaurian had yelled things about how it ‘was all his fault’ and (if he remembered correctly) Stakar’s name had been mentioned. Now that he looked back, it had probably been over the exile. He shook his head, clearing his thoughts of the past. Peter sized up Stakar, more than aware that it was his turn to ask the questions. It wasn’t fair that he was the one having to answer all the painful questions. “You ever hit him?”

Stakar jumped in his seat. “Don’t compare me to him.”

He was more curious than ever. “That’s my question. We had a deal.”

Grumbling about wanting alcohol, Stakar poured himself another cup of coffee. “Look, he wasn’t a kid and I sure as hell never broke any bones.” He took a gulp of his drink and then seemed to remember it was coffee, not alcohol. “I let a lot of things slide, he wasn’t used to freedom and was jumpy when strangers were around - a few people may have gotten bitten - but he did things even I couldn’t let him get away with. That’s not counting trafficking kids.”

“So why are you surprised he hits me?”

Stakar’s eyes narrowed. “You already got your question.”

Peter glared back. “Your turn,” he snarled.

“Anyone ever do anything to you that Yondu didn’t know about?” Peter raised an eyebrow and Stakar explained, “I’m just trying to figure out if you’re safe here.”

“I could be lying.”

“I’ve already figured out what that looks like. Trust me on this: learn to lie better.”

Peter huffed and took another sip of coffee. “When I was little. I finally told Yondu about it. He taught me how to fight back. We used them as punching bags.”

“Sounds like him.”

“Do you care about him?” It was another question that was intended to get under Stakar’s skin and it was immediately clear by the way he stiffened that it had worked.

“I don’t know,” he said after a moment’s pause. “I did - I’m not afraid to admit that I loved him like a son - but I can’t abide by what he did.” Stakar shook his head. “He broke my heart - broke all of our hearts.” Stakar huffed. “You got any friends here? Anyone you can talk to? You’ve had a rough go of it, you deserve that at least.”

He thought for a moment, then remembered his conversation with Yondu in the wrecked M-Ship. “Yeah. Yondu said I could talk to him anytime. Tullk’s a good listener. Kraglin’s a shit listener but I think he’d try.” Peter licked his lips, swallowing his nerves, “You.”

“Me,” Stakar agreed. Peter felt himself relax, grateful that all his rudeness and posturing hadn’t alienated the man.

“Who’s ‘all of us’? You said Yondu hurt ‘all’ of you.”

“My friends. Martinex, you met him-”

“The one Yondu said would be a nice dashboard trinket.”

Stakar snorted. “The bastard always did like shiny things. Anyway, him, Mainframe, Charlie-27, Krugarr, and Aleta.” The last name brought a smile to his lips. “She’s my wife,” he said.

 _Eww_ , Peter thought. “They sound weird.”

Stakar shrugged. “I never claimed they weren’t. You’ve met Yondu, you think he’s capable of making normal friends?”

“No.”

“Speaking of Yondu and Martinex, shall we make sure no one’s been turned into a trinket?”

“You done?”

“I am if you are.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: Has a million WIPs  
> Also Me: Wants to write fic for all the little background stories mentioned (give me requests guys)
> 
> Peter and Stakar are so buzzed on coffee. I almost feel bad for Yondu and Marty, AKA their babysitters.
> 
> I picture Stakar as one of those people who is always like “I NEED A DRINK” but he hardly ever actually drinks. 
> 
> Peter’s still at the stage where girls are yucky. Stakar is smitten with Aleta.
> 
> Next: Yondu vs Stakar.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing Yondu in this chapter has probably been the most exhausting thing I’ve done yet for this series. Dang man, you’ve got ISSUES. 
> 
> I know I promised a Yondu and Stakar confrontation this chapter, but that'll be put off to the next chapter. And then Yondu and Peter are going have to have a Long Talk and Peter's going to lose control at some point because he's been holding it together for too long. Stakar means well, but he's definitely ripped open some wounds.
> 
> So I sort of accidentally deleted my old tumblr, but I started a new one and you guys should totally follow me on there @ [SunflowerSupremes](https://sunflowersupremes.tumblr.com/)

There was an uncomfortable feeling building in Yondu’s stomach, although he wasn’t entirely certain what it was. It could have been something he ate. The last can of Beasties he’d eaten had technically been well past their expiration date. Yes. That had to be it.

It had absolutely nothing to do with seeing his old crew again.

Nope. It had to be the food.

He leaned back, trying to keep his posture as relaxed as possible, and glowered at Martinex. The other had the nerve to not appear cowed or intimidated in any way. _Bastard_.

After Stakar had left with Peter - as if that wasn’t going to turn everything on its head, he’d worked hard to keep Peter in the dark damn it - the two Ravager factions had fallen into sullen silence, content to pretend they didn’t know each other. A not so small part of Yondu wanted nothing more than to attempt to hold a conversation with Martinex, but he knew better than to think it would gain him anything. The rock was a stubborn asshole who wouldn’t let his opinions be swayed by anyone once he’d set them.

He and Yondu weren’t that unlike one another.

Yondu scowled at the thought, intentionally looking away, as though he had better places to be. He was sure the others had gotten a good view of the _Elector_ , of the fact that his ship was hardly spaceworthy, and were judging him. Stakar had always prided himself in keeping an orderly ship. The _Elector_ ’s condition was born out of stubborn spite as much as it was out of a lack of funds to repair her.

Hopefully, Peter would be okay. Hopefully, he wouldn’t bring up too much that Stakar didn’t need to know about: Yondu didn’t pretend to be good with kids, all he knew was Stakar and slavery. He’d tried (more or less) and even if he had left a few scars he’d been a hell of a lot better than Ego would have been.

 _Perhaps Peter will spark Stakar’s interest_ , a soft voice in his head murmured. _Perhaps he’ll be curious. He might even start listening_.

 _Shaddup_ , he told the voice bitterly. _Don’t need nobody. All I need from Stakar is for the bastard ta stop cutting us off from jobs_. It was purely a business transaction, nothing emotional or personal. Nothing to do with sleepless nights when his past kept him awake and he had no one to turn to.

Martinex was watching him, Yondu had given the other man the courtesy of only looking out of the corner of his eye, but the Pluvarian was staring at him straight on. Perhaps he thought he could burn right through him. Perhaps that was what he wanted. “Like what ya see?” he drawled.

Martinex scowled. “A traitor?”

Yondu growled but didn’t make to whistle. A fight with Martinex (or any of Stakar’s crew) wasn’t going to get him what he wanted. Kraglin went for his gun, no doubt having some grand thought of dying to defend his captain’s honor. _Ain’t got no more brains than Quill_.

The men Martinex had brought with them grabbed for their weapons as well, leaving Yondu and Martinex the only ones not fully armed. 

Yondu turned to look at Kraglin pointedly, drawing out his movements to make it all more obvious. Putting on a good show. “Ya ain’t dumb enough ta think that weapons gonna do nuttin’ ta ‘im, are ye?”

Kraglin lowered his gun. “Sorry Cap’n.”

“Lower your weapons,” Martinex said before Yondu could give the order to his own men. “They aren’t worth it.”

Jackass.

Even Yondu could only lie to himself so much. It wasn’t as though he’d never dreamed of seeing Stakar again, but typically those dreams were nightmares and ended in the worse way imaginable. He swallowed, leaning back against the wall of the hanger, resisting the urge to eye Stakar’s M-Ship.

“They writin’ a novel in dere cuz they sure is takin’ dere sweet time.” Martinex ignored the job, something he would never have done before Yondu’s exile. “I know you lot probably don’t got better ta do ‘cept harass old friends, but I got places ta be, things to steal.”

“We are not friends.”

Yondu faked an exaggerated wince, covering up the pain he truly felt. “Aw, Sparkles, don’t be like dat!” He sniggered, elbowing Kraglin so that the other would laugh along with him.

With a glance down at his wrist monitor to see how long Peter and Stakar had been gone he inwardly frowned. When Stakar had insisted on speaking with Peter, he’d felt a bit of panic rise in his chest. Stakar Ogord was **The One Who Knows** , but even he couldn’t possibly know everything. He didn’t know about Peter’s recent experiences, and Yondu knew better than anything that the last thing a traumatized person needed was to be backed into a corner.

If Stakar harmed one hair on Peter’s head, Yondu was going to personally eviscerate him (and then throw himself out an airlock before Aleta could get her hands on him).

“Yondu!” His chain of thought broken, he looked up to see Peter hurrying down the ramp of the M-Ship. Alone.

 _Shit_. With no Stakar in sight, it could only mean one of two things. Either Peter had killed Stakar (highly unlikely) or Stakar had sent Peter to fetch Yondu (which wasn’t going to be fun). “What is it, boy?” he asked sharply.

He didn’t fail to notice Peter’s slight wince or the sag of his shoulders. “He wants you,” he said softly as he finally reached Yondu.

Nodding, Yondu dropped his voice so that only Peter could hear and murmured. “Ya doin’ all right?” Peter nodded slightly and Yondu clamped his hand on his shoulder, pulling him closer so he could mutter, “Go hide on dat ship o’ yers, I’ll find ya later.” Better to have Peter out of the way if shooting started. Stakar and his men wouldn’t shoot him on purpose, but accidents happened and shots missed their intended targets.

“What if it goes south?”

“Ain’t no one gonna hurt you,” he raised his voice, meeting Martinex’ eyes over Peter’s head. There was a clear threat in his voice. Then he dropped his voice and grumbled, “Long as ya don’t do nuttin’ stupid.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beasties are possibly alive and super gross looking. If you’re curious, here’s a [comic panel](https://sunflowersupremes.tumblr.com/post/174792960339/star-lord-2015-ive-seen-beasties-referenced-in)
> 
> Also, I was researching comic!Stakar and apparently Aleta is his "adopted sister/ex-wife" and boy oh boy does he have issues. I now have the desire to write a long ass backstory for him which I in no way have time to write.
> 
> [Follow my Tumblr!](https://sunflowersupremes.tumblr.com/)


	13. Chapter 13

“Tullk, I think I fucked up.”

The older Ravager just looked at Peter with a raised eyebrow. “Nah, ya’s fine, boy. I shoulda known better than ta tell ya enough ta get Stakar out here.”

“What if he kills Yondu?”

“He ain’t gonna kill the cap’n.”

“What if Yondu kills him?” Tullk just laughed at that, but somehow it didn’t manage to make Peter feel any better. “I wish none of this had happened - I wish-”

“Wish all ya want, we’s stuck with dis.” Tullk swung his arm in what was probably meant to be a playful punch, but Peter flinched back in fear. His face softened and he said, “Ain’t gonna hurt cha.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t gotta ‘ppologize for it neither.”

“I just - ugh.” He curled his knees to his chest. Peter had invited Tullk down to his wrecked ship - he had about decided on the _Milano_ as the name, calling it Meredeth would just make him too sad - to take his mind off what was happening. He couldn’t stomach the idea of sitting by himself, not having any idea what was happening. “He really thought I was dead?”

“Cap’n wouldn’t left ya if he weren’t sure.” Peter nodded, repeating that to himself over and over. Tullk watched him for a moment before asking, “Stakar bother ya?” Peter shrugged. “Ya can tell me anythin’ I won’t go tellin’ it a no one.”

“I want everything to stop. It’s happening too fast. I don’t know what’s happening anymore. Tullk I-” he swallowed his words, turning his head away from his friend. _Ravagers don’t cry_.

“Aww no,” Tullk groaned, digging into the pockets of his coat. “Ya ain’t blubberin’ up on me, are ya Petey?”

“No,” he lied, his voice thick with tears. Tullk pressed a square of (mostly clean) fabric into his hand. He blotted at his eyes, still refusing to look at the other. “I don’t know what’s happening. I wish I really had died.”

“Don’t chu say dat.” Tullk’s voice was unusually sharp, his hand suddenly reaching out to clamp on Peter’s shoulder. “Ya ain’t dead and dat’s a real good ting, ya ‘ere?”

“But it hurts!” Peter shoved himself to his feet, breaking away from Tullk’s grasp. “Everything hurts and I want it to stop. Now. I wish I was dead.” 

“It hurts on da inside?” Peter nodded. “Ain’t nuttin’ fer it, cept time.”

“I don’t wanna wait.”

“Yeah, well, ya’s always been an impatient ass.” Tullk sighed, standing and drawing Peter into what was definitely the most awkward hug of either of their lives. Peter pulled back almost immediately, but still managed to feel better after the fact. “Look, dis ship is better fer havin’ ya on it, ya ‘ere?”

“Most people don’t think so.”

“Yeah, well, most o’ the crew are a-holes if ya ain’t noticed,” Tullk smirked at Peter who managed a weak smile in return. “Ya’s gonna be fine, ain’t allowed to do no different.” 

* * *

Stakar still wasn’t sure he’d gotten all the answers he wanted out of the kid, but he was fairly certain that asking too many more was going to break the fragile trust the two of them had managed to build. It had also left him with even more questions than before, and a burning desire to throttle Yondu Udonta.

The man was nothing but trouble. Hopefully, he and Martinex had managed to get along. Judging by the lack of shouting from outside the M-Ship, no one had gotten killed. Even Stakar had to admit that was just a bare minimum for ‘behaving’ when Yondu was around.

 **Yondu**.

Watching Peter disappear down the hall to fetch Yondu, he felt a sick feeling growing in his stomach. No matter how hard he tried to forget about the man he had once called his son, it seemed the other was determined to continue reminding him of his existence.

“Ya better have been nice ta my boy.”

“I didn’t break any bones, which I’d say makes me the better of the two of us.”

Yondu scowled from where he stood in the doorway. He’d come armed - of course, he had, his arrow was a constant presence on his hip - but it wasn’t as though Stakar wasn’t. Of course, bringing up the fact that Stakar knew Yondu had hurt Peter on more than one occasion probably wasn’t the best way. “Yer not plannin’ ta keep ‘im, are ya? He’s muh boy.”

Raising an eyebrow, Stakar snipped back, “I thought you of all people would understand you shouldn’t go around laying claim to other sentient beings.” Yondu bristled. The conversation was already off to a poor start.

“So what do I gotta say ta get rid ‘o ya?”

“The last time you attempted to contact me, you weren’t so quick to run me off.”

“Da last time ya wasn’t tryin’ ta bring Pete into it.”

They clearly weren’t going to get anywhere if they just kept snipping back and forth at each other. Yondu wanted something Stakar could never give him: a seat at the table (although, he knew it went deeper than that. It wasn’t a seat Yondu wanted or even readmission into the Ravager ranks. What he truly wanted was readmitted into his family).

“The last time, I nearly believed you when you told me you were done with kids.”

“What did ya want me to do?” Yondu’s voice was dangerously low, a soft growl that seemed to warn of immediate danger. “Leave ‘im ta the next shitbag Ego hired?”

“They couldn’t be any more of a shitbag than you.” Yondu didn’t justify that with a reply. “So what is the boy to you,” Stakar asked after a moment, folding his arms across his chest. “If he was a tool to get back into my good graces you’d have told me sooner. You could quite easily have left him at an orphanage if keeping him from Ego was your only concern. So why keep him?”

“He’s skinny. Good fer thievin’. Can get into places we can’t.”

It was a well-rehearsed line, one that Stakar saw through in an instant. “Bullshit.” Stakar snorted, shaking his head. “Is this some kind of punishment? Having to see him every day to remind yourself of what you’ve done?”

“Ya don’t know what yer talkin’ about!”

“You’ve developed a heart.” Stakar wasn’t sure which of the two of them were more alarmed by that realization, but they both stared at one another for several long moments, breathing harshly.

“Maybe,” Yondu snarled, pointing his finger at Stakar. He seemed to have remembered that he was supposed to be a frightening captain, not a poor (if loving) excuse for a father. Stakar opened his mouth to respond, but Yondu interrupted, “Ya'll listen to me!”

“I will?” He couldn’t decide if he was angry or just tired. “You betrayed the code, the fact that one kid’s alive doesn’t change anything.”

“I didn’t want them dead! I didn’t know what was going on!”

“You didn’t know because you didn’t want to know because it made you rich!” It was incredibly tempting to let his powers flare, not enough to cause any damage, but enough to remind Yondu who he was dealing with. If it were anyone else, he’d have done it in a heartbeat. But threatening the other with violence seemed as though it were going too far.

“I demand a seat at the table! I wear these flames, same as you.” Yondu had never been good at asking for things, even when they’d been on speaking terms. He would sooner puff up and shout and scream than admit to something being wrong. It had been easier for him to exaggerate injuries than to admit he just wanted to make sure someone still cared. It was far easier to say that he wanted his position as official Ravager than admit he wanted his family back.

“You may dress like us-” Stakar forced himself to take a deep breath, the rest of his sentence catching in his throat as he saw something break in his former friend’s posture. _You’ll never hear the Horns of Freedom when you die_. He’d said it before, at the same time he had attempted to destroy all the gifts he’d ever gotten Yondu (he’d only gotten his hands on one, crushing it beneath his boot before Yondu could stop him). _You go where we go_ , he’d promised a much younger Yondu when the other had asked if what afterlife he was destined for. The younger man had thought his only other option was to serve the Kree for the rest of eternity. Stakar wasn’t cruel enough to throw that back in his face.

It was clear on the other’s face that he knew what he was about to hear, as though he’d rehearsed the whole argument already in his head. Stakar had. They were just going in circles, the same tired old argument.

“Calling yourself a Ravager doesn’t change the fact that you willingly broke the code,” he growled. “Saving that kid doesn’t bring back the others.”

Yondu met his eyes for the first time since the shouting had started, his red eyes flashing with anger at having his past shoved in his face. It only made sense that he shoved back, throwing Stakar’s darkest past in his face. “Savin’ me didn’t bring back yers.”

It was Yondu’s fault that Stakar broke his nose.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of the dialogue is shamelessly borrowed from the confrontation with Stakar in Vol 2. I imagine he’s been rehearsing it. 
> 
> In rewatching that scene I realized there’s a blue guy behind Stakar and I can’t help but wonder if he promoted a Kree to Yondu’s old position out of spite. (and if that's not a dramatic fic waiting to happen, mostly full of Martinex saying 'you did WHAT now?" then I don't know what is).
> 
> Ugh. Also, now I wanna know what would have happened if Ayesha had gone to Stakar to get Peter instead. Like, obviously she went to Yondu because of his history with Peter, but what if she saw Stakar and just decided he looked like he had a better crew?
> 
> [Follow me on Tumblr!](https://sunflowersupremes.tumblr.com/)


	14. Chapter 14

“I didn’t mean to do that.” It was as close as he was going to get to saying sorry, and Yondu bitterly accepted that.

“Reckon I shouldn’t’a brought up yer kids,” he admitted sullenly, moping at the azure blood dripping from his nose with a napkin he’d stolen off the table.

Stakar sighed, shaking his head and refusing to meet Yondu’s eyes. “I suppose this makes my lecture about you breaking Peter’s hand more difficult.”

“E tell ya about dat?”

“Yes.”

“Shit.” They just sat in silence, not looking at each other for a long moment, neither being entirely certain of what to say. “Ya ain’t changed much.” That was a conversation, right?

“I don’t age.”

“I know.”

Yondu grabbed another napkin, pressing it against his broken nose to see if it had stopped bleeding. It came away blue, clearly still bleeding. Across from him, Stakar stared at his empty coffee cup. As much as Yondu hated to admit it, he missed the days where their banter had come easily. 

He almost missed Stakar’s next words, “He’s a good kid.”

“E’s a pain in da ass.” Yondu grumbled, giving up on making his nose stop bleeding and tipping his head back.

“Let the blood drain,” Stakar reminded him. _You an’ yer stupid medical advice_ , Yondu thought sulkily. He leaned his head back forward and resumed blocking the bleeding with the napkin.

“He ain’t a bad kid. Just irritating.”

Stakar finally looked up at Yondu, seeming to be somewhere between resolved and mildly confused. “You care about him." If he mentioned that one more time, Yondu was going to gut him with his arrow. Well, he was going to shoot the arrow at him and let Stakar burn it up. "I thought you disliked kids.”

“Don’t like slave kids,” he said, snorting out a glob of blood and grabbing for yet another napkin. “Ain’t never met any others.” They’d been too much like him, he’d grown to hate them, it was, after all, easier than growing close to something that was probably going to die soon. He’d learned that the hard way. 

“You really didn’t know what he was doing with those kids?”

Yondu glared. “I already told ya-”

“Yondu.” Stakar looked tired and Yondu forced himself to remember that the man had about as many issues as he did, and most of them were caused by the loss of his own children. Anyone would overreact in such a situation.

“I thought he were takin’ care o’ ‘em. Just wanted ‘em ta have a family.” He’d thought he was doing good for someone, finally, and hey, if he was getting paid on the side, then it was just a bonus. “I ain’t never had a family.”

“You have us.”

“Yeah, well, fat lotta good dat’s done me da last decade-” Yondu stopped himself, his brain slowly catching up with his mouth. Stakar eyed him curiously, his coffee mug raised to hide the slightest smile. “ **Have**?”

“I’ll have to talk to the others, but yes. I think you do.” 

* * *

Peter’s comm crackled to life. “Ya still breathin’ boy?” came Yondu’s gruff question.

Perking up, Peter quickly answered, “Yes!”

“Damn,” Yondu grumbled, “an’ ‘ere I were so hopeful.” Somehow his voice even worse than usual, but Peter ignored it, too curious to find out what had happened. Beside him, Tullk had sat up as well from where he’d remained by Peter in comforting silence.

“Don’t be an ass.” The new voice belonged to Stakar, and Peter and Tullk exchanged startled looks.

“I got a fine ass, thank you very much.”

“Gross,” Peter informed him, only to be rewarded with Yondu’s laughter.

“Yeah, well, ya on dat ship o’ yers?”

“The boy has a ship?” Stakar asked, sounding alarmed.

“It don’t really do much, it’s da junker over dere.” They must have been standing in the hanger then, if Yondu was able to point out the newly christened _Milano_.

“Junk ships are more dangerous than live ones!”

“Eh.” Yondu didn’t seem concerned, Peter could practically hear the exaggerated shrug in his voice as he said, “E ain’t kilt ‘imself yet.” Somewhere in the background, Stakar sighed, clearly having given up.

“I’m a great pilot!” Peter argued, pushing himself to his feet. “Where are you?” For some reason - and it was something he didn’t want to delve into, not yet - he was desperate to get back to Yondu. Hopefully, he and Stakar had worked out at least some of whatever their issue was and everything could go back to normal.

Although, if Peter was being truthful, he wouldn’t mind if Stakar stuck around. There was something about the man that reminded him of Rocky, and even outside of that he seemed genuinely nice.

Hurrying down the ramp of the Milano, Peter forgot completely about Tullk as he forced himself to slow down and walk across the hanger. _Don’t look so excited_ , he scolded himself.

Stakar was talking to his shiny first mate, and Yondu was striding toward Peter with wads of napkin shoved up his nose. “Are you alright?” Peter asked nervously as he got close enough to see the blood stains on Yondu’s sleeves.

“Eh?” For a moment Yondu seemed uncertain what Peter was talking about, then he itched at his nose as he said, “Ya, well, Stakar ain’t allowed to git on ta me ‘bout breakin’ yer wrist now dat ‘e broke my nose.”

“Stakar did that?!” Okay, maybe Peter didn’t want the other man around. Not if he was as prone to violence as Yondu. One asshole was bad enough.

“Yep.” Yondu squinted at Peter, then grumbled, “reckon he shouldn’t’a done it, then again, I probably shouldn’t’a broke yer wrist.”

Peter blinked. “Are you…. Apologizing?”

“What!?” Yondu managed to look offended. “Ya hit yer head boy? Don’t be dumb.”

_He was_. Peter hid his glee, allowing himself to be pulled into one of Yondu’s one-armed hugs that also doubled as the Centaurian’s way of manhandling people and making them go where he wanted.

“Boy, youse in real trouble, ya ‘ear?” It was clear Yondu didn’t mean his words. “Talkin’ ta strangers. Thought ya sed yer mamma told ya not ter do dat?”

“Stakar isn’t a stranger,” Peter objected. “He’s your _friend_.”

“Hmm.” Yondu frowned, glaring across the hanger at the other captain and his first mate. “Suppose ‘e might be. Ain’t too sure. Can’t never be too sure with an Ogord.” Then he frowned, picking up the pace and forcing Peter to jog alongside him back toward Stakar. “Ya didn’t go inviting da others, did ya?” Yondu called out to him.

“I did.”

“Even Aleta?”

“I couldn’t keep her away if I wanted to.”

“Aww shit.” Yondu looked down at Peter, still tucked against his side. “Aleta’s his wife, she ain’t nuttin but trouble.”

“Ex-wife,” Martinex supplied helpfully.

“Again?” Yondu raised an eyebrow. “Whatchu up ta now, 3 divorces?”

“Five.” Stakar glared at Martinex as he supplied that information, but the shiny man hardly seemed bothered. In fact, he actually seemed amused.

“Shit, Stakar, ya got issues,” Yondu grumbled. Peter just gaped. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here’s a load of feelings I thought up while I was writing this: Yondu walking in on Stakar and Aleta having sex and then FREAKING OUT because he’s a victim of sexual assault and doesn’t understand that consent is a possibility and he feels betrayed and ouch. 
> 
> [Follow me on Tumblr](https://sunflowersupremes.tumblr.com/)


	15. Chapter 15

By the time their little reunion in the hanger was done, it was getting late enough that Yondu insisted it was past Peter’s bedtime. “I’m not a kid!” he’d argued.

“Sure ya ain’t,” Yondu had taunted.

They’d all somehow ended up deciding to end the strange reunion at that point, Stakar and Martinex returning to their own ship with a promise to return the next day cycle. Yondu had pretended to be sick of their presence already as he pushed Peter to his room.

Once Yondu deposited him in his room, Peter wasted no time curling up in a ball on his bed, not even bothering to undress properly. He wrapped the scratchy furs - and there were definitely more than before his capture, and some of them looked (and smelled) suspiciously like Yondu’s - around himself and closed his eyes.

But sleep eluded him.

His mind kept replaying through the events of the day and all the things Stakar had brought back up that he didn’t really want to think about. _Stop it_ , he told himself furiously. His mind didn’t obey. He kept seeing his former owner, but instead of him being crushed underneath him, it was Yondu.

Peter rolled over, staring up at the ceiling. _Ya got more in common than ya knows_ , Kraglin had told him one of the days he’d been assigned as Peter’s babysitter after they’d rescued him. Peter had simply told him to fuck off.

Now he regretted that. Slowly he pushed himself to his feet, padding to the door of his room and peering out into the hall. It was deserted, as it usually was at that time of the night cycle. He darted across the hall, knocking at Yondu’s door, hoping he was back from dealing with Stakar.

“Who is et?” came Yondu’s response, only a moment later.

“Peter.”

He heard something shuffling, then Yondu’s door opened to reveal the captain standing in front of him, looking as though he’d crawled out of bed.

“Uhh, I-” suddenly Peter wasn’t sure he wanted to be where he was, almost wishing he could melt into the floor instead of being forced to admit why he was standing pitifully in front of Yondu’s room in the middle of the night.

Thankfully, Yondu decided to spare him the humiliation. “Get in,” he grumbled, standing back so Peter could push his way through the door. “Jus’ don’t chu go stealin’ all my covers, boy.” 

* * *

Peter didn’t ever want to wake up.

He shifted slightly, leaning into Yondu’s side, and tried to ignore the strange weight on his knees. Oddly enough, he didn’t feel embarrassed to wake up curled next to Yondu, it wasn’t like it had never happened before. He’d had nightmares as a kid and Yondu had said it was easier to let him sleep in his bed than listen to him sniffling and crying in the vents. 

The thing on his knees shifted. Peter leaned his head on Yondu’s shoulder, keeping his eyes stubbornly shut as he listened to Yondu’s wheezing breaths. He couldn’t roll over, no matter how hard he tried, because of the weight pinning his feet.

_Wait_.

He opened his eyes and something peered back. Huge blue eyes, framed by red, scaly skin. Peter screamed. Yondu whistled. The snake didn’t even flinch.

“Aw, hell, Krugarr! What the fuck?” Yondu’s arrow returned to its spot beside the bed and the Centaurian rolled out of bed, glaring at the red creature that was sprawled across Peter’s legs. “Who let ya on my ship?”

He shifted his hands and something flared to life between them. A glowing bird appeared as though by magic. Peter gaped, sitting up and reaching out to touch it. His hand met nothing, passing straight through it. “Stakar?” Yondu asked, clearly understanding whatever that was meant to symbolize. “Bastard. It’s my ship!”

Krugarr ignored Yondu’s gripping, sending the bird over to sit on Peter’s shoulder. “Pete dat’s Krugarr, ‘e’s one o’ Stakar’s captains,” Yondu said, watching as Krugarr’s bird nuzzled into Peter’s shoulder warmly. “E’s a Lem, freaky magic thing.”

The bird lifted off Peter’s shoulder and soared straight at Yondu who just batted at it. It dissolved into thin air. “Dat’s ‘ow ‘e says e’s pissed. Ya learn quick.” The Lem patted Peter gently on the head, flicking his leg with the tip of his tail.

Peter was pretty sure he was going to like the strange creature that was currently pulling at his hand, trying to lead him into the hallway.

“Yeah, yeah, if ya want ‘im so bad ya take ‘im,” Yondu grumbled, still seeming to understand Krugarr’s wordless communication. “Pete keep ‘im outta trouble fer me, Imma have a chat wit Stakar ‘bout inviting people onta my ship.”

Krugarr’s ears sagged, his eyes lowering. “Dramatic brat,” Yondu snapped, punching him in the shoulder. “I ain’t mad at you.” The Lem perked up - Peter swore he heard a purr - and happily nudged Yondu’s shoulder with his head.

Yondu brushed him off, grumbling about “krutarking magic users” as he stomped off, no doubt to figure out if Stakar had invited himself back onto the _Elector_ or not.

The Lem rounded on Peter immediately as they walked out of Yondu’s quarters, waving his hands and pulling up a round ball. “Uhhh,” Peter began, then cut himself off as the ball continued until it had formed itself into a map of the Earth. “Hey! That’s where I’m from!”

Krugarr pointed to something in Asia - it had been a long time since Peter had taken geography, but he was pretty sure it was around China or India - and then looked at the Terran quizzically.

“I’m from Missouri,” he explained, pointing to about where his state should be on the globe.

Again, the Lem didn’t seem pleased with his answer, pointing furiously at the picture of the Earth. “I’m confused.” Another picture appeared this one of a bald man. “I don’t know him.”

Finally, Krugarr seemed to give up, waving away the picture, his ears drooping. “Look,” Peter said softly, “I’m sorry. I wasn’t on Earth - uh, Terra - all that long before Yondu picked me up.” Come to think of it, he’d officially been on the _Elector_ longer than he’d been on his homeworld and he wasn’t sure what he thought of that. Instead of dwelling on that, he asked, “You’ve been there?”

Krugarr gave him a glowing thumbs up. So maybe he wasn’t so hard to understand after all, Peter decided. “What’s that?” he asked, pointing at the apparition. “I mean, how does it work?”

Krugarr thought for a moment, then a pair of high heeled shoes appeared in front of him, and a house with a pair of legs sticking out from under it. “Uh. Is that the Wizard of Oz?” He froze. “Are you saying that’s magic? Holy shit!”

Another glowing thumbs up. Peter bounced on his feet excitedly. “This is so cool! Yondu never told me there was magic out here!”

The thumbs up turned into what suspiciously appeared to be a pile of poop. Peter sniggered, “Okay, so he doesn’t like magic, does he?”

Krugarr stopped suddenly, peering curiously at one of the vent coverings. “What is it?” Peter asked, feeling as though he was dealing with a dog that had caught wind of an exciting scent. The Lem didn’t have to touch the vent cover, his magic lifted it off for him and he leaned inside. “Uh, you know, that’s probably filthy. As in, there’s probably actual shit in there.”

Ignoring him, Krugarr slithered further inside the vents, until all Peter could see was the tip of his tail. “Krugarr?” Finally, the Lem reappeared, slipping back out, making his strange purring noise again as he held out his hand to Peter.

Peter stared at the fruits of Krugarr’s labor. “Uh. Nice rock?” he offered, staring up at the Lem with confusion clearly written on his face. Krugarr held out his hand, waggling his fingers as though he were about to say something, but instead, the rock glowed softly. “It's a magic rock?”

Krugarr’s ears twitched and he nodded. He pointed at Peter’s comm, then to the rock, then to himself. “You want me to ask Yondu if you can have it?”

A glowing thumbs up.

“Bud, I don’t think he knows it’s here. Keep it.” But Krugarr was insistent, tapping Peter’s comm and giving him an expectant look. “Alright, alright,” Peter muttered, keying in Yondu’s contact information.

“Ya sick o’ Krugarr already?” Yondu drawled, earning Peter’s comm a petulant glare and a glowing middle finger.

“He found some sort of magic space rock in the vents,” Peter explained, already feeling like an idiot. “I think he wants it?”

“Magic space rock?” Yondu asked. “Flark, Krugarr, I don’t want no magic mumbo-jumbo on my ship. Ya find something freaky ya’s better get rid o’ it fer me.”

Krugarr’s ears perked up and cocked his head, the tip of his tail twitching. A smile appeared between his hands, then he launched himself into the vents with barely a backward glance. “Uhh. I think he says thank you? Also, I think he thinks there’s more?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at [this adorkable art of Krugarr](https://www.pinterest.com/pin/557250153888019874/%20) that I stumbled across. My Krugarr is based on this and also Toothless from How to Train Your Dragon. 
> 
> Also, I headcanon that Krugarr trained under The Ancient One. Comic Krugarr trained under Doctor Strange, but that doesn’t match the MCU timeline. The Ancient One is the person that Krugarr tried to make a picture of that Peter thought was a dude.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Krugarr sleeping on top of Yondu and Peter in the last chapter was inspired by [this fanart](https://sunflowersupremes.tumblr.com/post/175128410914/write-like-an-american-ladynorthstar-the-fact) that I couldn’t find the link to last time I posted. It’s my favorite thing ever.

Much to the Lem’s disappointment, he didn’t find anything else of interest in the _Elector’s_ ductwork. Peter no longer fit in the vents - well, not comfortably, and he wasn’t in the mood to cram into anything that small and cage like - so he followed the other through the halls, listening to for the tell-tale sound of thumping until Krugarr finally popped out of one of the vents and flashed Peter a magical sad face.

“You done?”

Krugarr nodded, slithering down to perch next to him. “Let’s go to the mess hall, I’m starving. Uh, do you eat?”

Krugarr shook his head and Peter sighed, “Then do you mind coming with me?” He didn’t want to be rude, although he was starving. Thankfully, Krugarr nodded and motioned for Peter to lead the way.

Peter didn’t recognize the mess hall when they finally got there. He stepped in and then had to back out and double check that he’d entered the room he thought before shaking his head and muttering to himself. Krugarr looked at him, with an expression that seemed to be the Lem equivalent of a raised eyebrow. “They cleaned it,” he said in disbelief.

Krugarr slithered past him, looking around the room and then back to Peter with a glowing thumbs down as though to say, ‘Not well enough.’

“I’ve never seen it this clean,” he muttered, elbowing Krugarr playfully. The Lem made another one of his strange, almost purring sounds and shook his head, ears flopping.

“I know it’s sad, tell me about it.” Peter grabbed a meal quickly, shoving it into his mouth as he stood, wanting to get out of the strangely clean room and disappear back into a more familiar part of the ship. “Are you gonna be here long?” He did like Krugarr, but he wasn’t opposed to the idea of things going back to normal. Of course, with the mess hall in the state, it was in, Peter was almost afraid to see the rest of the ship. _Nothing’s ever gonna be normal again_ , he lamented.

Krugarr shrugged, flicking his tail as he watched Peter eat.

“So what do Lems eat?” he asked curiously. A magical sun popped up between Krugarr’s hands. “What? Sunlight? Like a plant?!” Peter grinned. “That’s cool, dude.”

Krugarr blinked, seemed startled by Peter’s announcement. “Come on,” the Terran said, having finished his food. “Let’s find Yondu.”

Krugarr followed Peter through the halls of the _Elector_ , watching the passing Ravagers with piqued curiosity. “Wretch!” Peter called, spying the familiar - if ugly - face. “Where’s Yondu?”

“Captain’s on the bridge,” he said pushing Peter out of his way with unnecessary force.

Peter winced as he rubbed his shoulder, glaring back at Wretch as the other went by. “There’s enough hallway for both of us,” he grumbled.

“Getting smart are we, slave boy?”

Before Wretch could say or do anything else or Peter could retaliate, the older Ravager was hoisted into the air by a strand of yellow magic. Krugarr’s face was less than an inch from his, the Lem’s large ears flared out. Peter was vaguely reminded of lizards that would puff up their neck to appear larger to opponents and wondered if Krugarr was doing something similar.

“Put me down!” Wretch shouted, wriggling against the magic to no avail. “You stupid reptile! Quill! Tell your pet to back down!” Peter backed away, the peaceful creature who’s company he had been enjoying was gone, replaced by something feral. Something protective.

Krugarr reared back, like a snake about to bite, his eyes as narrow as slits. Peter didn’t know what to do. As much as he wasn’t fond of Wretch, he didn’t want to see the Lem kill him, even if the man probably deserved it.

“Umm- Krugarr?” Ignoring Peter, the Lem continued eyeing his nervous pray, looking as though he was sizing him up to swallow him whole. “Are you sure you just eat sunlight?” Krugarr glanced over his shoulder at Peter, eyes softening, then Wretch aimed a kick in their direction and the Lem turned on him again, angrier than before.

“Krugarr! Put him down!” Stakar’s sharp voice broke through Peter’s haze, and all three - Peter, Krugarr, and Wretch - turned to face the arriving admiral.

Doing as he was told, Krugarr released Wretch, letting the man plummet several feet to the floor. The Lem shook his head, almost seeming to laugh as he groaned in pain.

Stakar wasn’t finished, turning on Peter - the only one capable of verbally answering his questions - to ask, “What’s this?”

Krugarr clearly didn’t understand why interrogating Peter was a better choice, wrapping himself around the Terran like a protective boa constrictor, making hurried gestures at Stakar.

Thankfully, Stakar was easily able to understand what was being said. “Uh huh,” Stakar said, seeming unimpressed. “Alright, so the man’s an asshole. Does that justify killing him?”

Krugarr made another gesture, Peter couldn’t see, but it caused Wretch whimpered.

“It also doesn’t justify maiming him, even if he called you a pet.”

Not wanting to see his new friend get yelled at, even if Stakar didn’t truly seem that upset, mainly just frustrated, Peter whispered, “he called me a slave.” Technically Wretch hadn’t been lying, but that didn’t erase the tight feeling in Peter’s stomach at the words. _I'm not a slave anymore_! He wanted to scream. _They can't touch me again_! 

Stakar rounded on Wretch, his eyes suddenly glowing. _He’s fucked_ , was all Peter was able to fully comprehend as Stakar bellowed, “You did WHAT!?”

“I uh, it were just bein’ funny, Admiral?”

The strange hoops on Stakar’s shoulders, the ones he had asked about the day before that Stakar had called Solar Wings, began to glow faintly, the same hue as his eyes. “Funny? Would you call your captain that?” 

“Uh-”

“I’d like to see you call your captain that,” Stakar seemed to enjoy the thought and Krugarr’s ears flicked in telltale amusement. “Why don’t you, in fact, we can see what he has to say about it.”

Wretch’s eyes widened, the light from Stakar’s shoulders reflecting in their dark depths. “Can ya just let the lizard kill me?”

The light from Stakar began to die down, the man leaned back and folded his arms across his chest. “No. I’m going to let you go. But I will be giving Yondu a full report.”

Wretch swallowed nervously, then scrambled off down the hall without a backward glance. Stakar watched him go, waiting until he was out of sight to turn back to Peter who was attempting to extract himself from Krugarr’s hold. “Let the kid go.”

Krugarr slithered back, petting Peter’s head happily. He made a gesture to Stakar who sighed. “You want me to translate that?” When Krugarr nodded, Stakar said, “He says if anyone’s a pet it’s you.”

“Hey!” Again Krugarr ears twitched with laughter and the tip of his tail flicked Peter’s nose.“A-hole.” He turned to Stakar’ trying to ignore the feeling of Krugarr’s tail on his hair, stroking him like someone would a puppy. _Long as he doesn’t try and get me a leash_ , Peter thought dryly. “Have you seen Yondu?”

“I just got here myself.”

A crude rendering of the London Bridge appeared between Krugarr’s hands and then he pointed to the front of the ship. “Yondu’s on the bridge,” Stakar translated, even though Peter was starting to figure the Lem out.

Krugarr didn’t wait for the two of them, already zipping off toward the bridge, probably wanting to show Yondu his magic rocks. Stakar hung back, placing a soft hand on Peter’s shoulder. “Do you want me to tell him not to call you a pet?”

“I don’t mind,” Peter said quickly. Too quickly.

Stakar shook his head. “I saw you wince. Think about it. I don’t mind telling him.” He stepped past Peter, then stopped and said, “No one’s gonna own you again, kid. They’d have to go through Yondu and Krugarr.” Something about Stakar’s face said that they’d also have to go through him, but Peter didn’t call him on it.

“Which of them is more terrifying?”

“Oh hell,” Stakar moaned, clearly picturing the two of them fighting and not liking what he saw. “Let’s catch up before we find out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t know if Lems are photosynthetic, I just made it up. 
> 
> If you haven’t seen it already, I wrote a fic about Peter’s broken wrist that he told Stakar about. It’s called [Broken Trust](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14996573). Mind the trigger warnings if you read it.
> 
> I also got asked on Tumblr about Stakar's numerous divorces if you want a good laugh [Check it Out](https://sunflowersupremes.tumblr.com/post/174935323269/i-keep-going-back-to-the-five-divorces-yondus)

**Author's Note:**

> [Follow me on Tumblr!](http://sunflowersupremes.tumblr.com/)


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